Doğuş University 1st International 
Conference on English Language and 
Literature,
Loneliness and Isolation in Literature 
(DIDE2023)
Full Text Conference Proceedings 
Booklet
07-09, July 2023
2
Contents 
Welcoming Remarks from the Conference Chair .................................................................................. 3 
CONSTRUCTING THE SCOTTISH SHAKESPEARE: SHAKESPEAREAN ALLUSION IN JOHN HOME’S 
DOUGLAS: A TRAGEDY (1756) ............................................................................................................. 4 
Kevin J. McGinley ................................................................................................................................ 4 
BEATNIKS AND SPUTNIKS: THE EXPLORATION OF LONELINESS IN HARUKI MURAKAMI’S SPUTNIK 
SWEETHEART .................................................................................................................................... 16 
Tuğba ELMAS .................................................................................................................................... 16 
GROTESQUE BODY, ABJECTION AND DEATH IN THE CITY IN CRIMSON CLOAK ................................ 24 
Bilge Sevim Soykut ............................................................................................................................ 24 
CRUSOE’S LOST DAUGHTER: WOMAN’S SEARCH FOR IDENTITY AND FREEDOM IN NOVEL READING
 .......................................................................................................................................................... 40 
Seval ARSLAN .................................................................................................................................... 40 
A DIACHRONIC CORPUS-BASED STUDY ON SELECTED LONELINESS NOVELS ................................... 50 
Mandana Kolahdouz Mohammadi ................................................................................................... 50 
THE EVOLUTION OF GERALT OF RIVIA THE WITCHER THROUGH MEDIUMS.................................... 61 
Selis Yıldız Şen ................................................................................................................................... 61 
UNVEILING UMUOFIAN CLAN'S CULTURE FROM A STRUCTURALIST POINT OF VIEW ..................... 71 
Gökhan Alyan .................................................................................................................................... 71 
AN END TO THE ISOLATED HEROES IN DETECTIVE FICTION: THE MALTESE FALCON (1930) ............. 78 
Mustafa CANLI ................................................................................................................................... 78 
THE MEMOIRS OF A SURVIVOR: AMBIGUOUS AUTOBIOGRAHY ...................................................... 84 
Sarah Alaa Abdelrahman AFIFI .......................................................................................................... 84 
3
Welcoming Remarks from the Conference Chair 
Welcome to the inaugural edition of the "Doğuş University 1st International Conference on 
English Language and Literature, Loneliness and Isolation in Literature (DIDE2023) 
Proceedings" We are pleased to present this compilation showcasing the academic excellence 
and innovative research presented during the conference. 
As the editor of this proceedings, I am very grateful to all the esteemed scholars, researchers, 
and speakers who contributed their valuable insights and ideas to make this conference a 
resounding success. Their engagement in the field of English language and literature has 
enriched our understanding of the theme of loneliness and isolation in literature and illuminated 
the complexity of these profound feelings in literary works. 
In the following pages, you will find a variety of scholarly articles that address a wide range of 
issues surrounding loneliness and isolation in literature. From classic literary masterpieces to 
contemporary works, this collection offers a comprehensive exploration of the topic, allowing 
readers to gain new perspectives and engage in critical discussions. 
Our sincere thanks go to the conference organizing committee, whose careful planning and 
efforts made this event possible. We also extend special thanks to the reviewers, whose 
expertise and constructive feedback helped maintain the academic rigor and quality of the 
papers presented. 
In addition, I would like to thank the attendees who participated in the lively discussions, thus 
ensuring a vibrant academic environment throughout the conference. Your active participation 
and enthusiasm undoubtedly contributed to the success of this event. 
Finally, I would like to thank the editorial team for their diligent work in compiling and 
organizing this conference volume. Your commitment to excellence has ensured that the ideas 
presented at the conference will be preserved for future reference and academic exploration. 
It is my hope that the conference proceedings, "Doğuş University 1st International Conference 
on English Language and Literature, Loneliness and Isolation in Literature (DIDE2023) 
Proceedings," will serve scholars, students, and literature lovers as a valuable resource that 
encourages further research and stimulates intellectual curiosity in this captivating field. 
We thank you for your participation in this enriching scholarly journey and look forward to 
continued collaboration and knowledge sharing in future endeavors. 
Sincerely, 
Assist. Prof. Dr. Gökçen Kara 
Conference Chair and Department Head 
4
CONSTRUCTING THE SCOTTISH SHAKESPEARE: SHAKESPEAREAN ALLUSION IN JOHN 
HOME’S DOUGLAS: A TRAGEDY (1756) 
Kevin J. McGinley1 
ABSTRACT 
John Home’s Douglas: A Tragedy, when first performed in Edinburgh in 1756, was a sensation. 
Its author being a minister of the Church of Scotland, the play stirred up a pamphlet war 
between those who opposed drama on religious and moral grounds and the play’s defenders, 
who viewed it as a patriotic assertion of Scotland’s cultural sophistication and a demonstration 
of the nation’s humanistic values. Yet despite this patriotic emphasis, from its inception, the 
play and its author drew comparisons not with Scottish literary antecedents, but with the great 
English playwright, Shakespeare. These comparisons were made through external 
commentaries on the play, but were also invited by the text itself, through Home’s use of 
allusions to Shakespeare. These Shakespearean allusions are a response to eighteenth-century 
concerns over Scotland being marginalised within the British union, viewed as a junior partner 
to England, as culturally backwards, and even as a threat to the Britain’s political stability. By 
allusively linking to Shakespeare, the play asserts both cultural equality with England and 
shared values. At the same time, aspects of the Shakespearean allusions suggest criticism of 
English culture and resentment at the larger nation’s claims to pre-eminence. 
Keywords: John Home, Shakespeare, Allusion, Theatre, Scotland. 
John Home’s Douglas: A Tragedy is little known today, but when it was first performed in 
Edinburgh’s Canongate Theatre on 14 December 1756, it was a huge success. Controversy over 
the play’s author being a Minister of the Church of Scotland stirred an enormous pamphlet war 
between the play’s supporters and those who opposed it on religious and moral grounds 
(Freeman 2002; MacLean 2010). This gained significant attention for the play and roused a 
great deal of interest, ensuring an eager audience: “Persons of all ranks and professions crouded 
to it; and many had the mortification to find the house so full when they came to the door, that 
they could not get in” (Scots Magazine vol. 18, December 1756: 623-24). Home staged the 
play in Scotland only after efforts to have it performed in London had failed. Its success in 
Edinburgh was a vindication of his literary ambitions and the play went on to a successful run 
in London’s Covent Garden Theatre. (Gipson 1917: 35-57)  
While Douglas had its detractors – Dr Johnson famously declared that there were not 
ten good lines in it (Boswell 1786: p. 481) – it was well-received in England: the poet Thomas 
Gray asserted that the play “seems to me to have retrieved the true language of the Stage, wch 
has been lost for these hundred years” (Gray, 1757). Douglas went on to be performed regularly 
1 Assoc. Prof. Kevin Mcginley, Tampere University, kevin.mcginley@tuni.fi. 
 5
 
over the following century and literally became a household name as a popular closet drama 
piece that was especially popular for children. The speech from the character of Young 
Norval/Douglas, beginning “My Name is Norval” was a particular favourite and widely 
embraced as a piece that promoted good elocution (Ford 2021). The play is cited in Jane 
Austen’s Mansfield Park (1816: Ch. 13, p. 118) Charles Dickens’s The Holly Tree Inn (1855, 
18), and George Eliot’s The Mill on the Floss (1860: Bk. 2, Ch. 1, p. 140) as having been a 
regular family performance piece 
 For the supporters of Douglas at the time of its first performance in Edinburgh, the play 
was an important symbol of Scotland’s cultural sophistication. John Home’s friend Alexander 
Carlyle (1722-1805), who attended the early performances in Edinburgh, wrote that, “The town 
in general was in an uproar of exultation, that a Scotsman should write a tragedy of the first 
rate, and that its merits were first submitted to their judgement” (Carlyle 1860: 311-12). The 
play was thus not just seen as a significant achievement for John Home, but for all of Scotland, 
marking the nation as a centre of letters and learning (Sher 2006: 64-67). This patriotic 
dimension of the play was not just a matter of its reception, but was inscribed in the text itself. 
The prologue that was delivered at the Edinburgh performances evoked the main character as 
a representative of Scottish heroism: 
 
Oft has this audience soft compassion shown  
To woes of heroes, heroes not their own.  
This night our scenes no common tear demand.  
He comes, the hero of your native land!  
Douglas, a name through all the world renown’d,  
A name that rouses like the trumpet’s sound! 
(Home 1756: 291-92) 
 
Home here presents his play as a corrective to a lack of Scottish material in the theatrical culture 
and evokes the noble Douglas family, who were historically closely associated with Robert the 
Bruce during the Wars of Scottish Independence in the late thirteenth and early fourteenth 
centuries, especially through the figure of Sir James Douglas (Barrow 1976; Davis 1974). But 
Home’s play is set before the Wars of Independence, during the period of the Viking invasions 
that ended in the mid thirteenth century, and his title character is also distanced from the historic 
Earls of Douglas, being a member of the Douglas family but  born from a clandestine marriage, 
who was lost as a child and raised by a shepherd under the name “Norval”, and who now seeks 
to reclaim his heritage. The play’s title character thus mirrors the cultural ambitions of the play 
itself by evoking the idea of a grand national heritage and the aim of reclaiming it. 
 
 Given this patriotic Scottish content, it may seem peculiar that the chief literary 
comparison that is used in discussing Douglas is not some Scottish literary predecessors, such 
as Sir David Lyndsay (c.1486-c.1555) or Allan Ramsay (1686-1758), or even the folk ballad 
tradition, though the ballad of Gil Morrice was often discussed as a source (Gil Morrice 1796). 
Rather, Home was regularly compared to the great English William writer Shakespeare, who 
by the mid-eighteenth century was well on his way to becoming an icon of English cultural 
identity (Dobson 1994). Early responses to Douglas regularly compared Home’s work with 
 6
 
Shakespeare. The philosopher David Hume dedicated his 1757 essay “On Tragedy” to John 
Home, praising Douglas with comparison to both Shakespeare and the English Restoration 
dramatist Thomas Otway: “You possess the true theatric genius of Shakespeare and Otway, 
refined from the unhappy barbarism of the one and licentiousness of the other” (Hume 1757: 
vol. iii, p. 66; Mossner 1940). The contrast with Otway, who was criticised in the eighteenth 
century for immoral content and his plays even hissed off the stage (Johnson 1781: 146), asserts 
the moral status of Home’s dramas against those who attacked theatre as irreligious; the 
comparison to Shakespeare’s barbarism alludes to the idea of Shakespeare as an undisciplined 
genius whose plays were brilliant but irregularly constructed with little regard for the rules of 
art (Prince 2012: 278-80). Home is not just likened to Shakespeare but presented as even having 
improved on his illustrious predecessor. 
  
Even before David Hume made the comparison, the idea of John Home as a Scottish 
counterpart to Shakespeare was clearly making the rounds. A satirical poem against Douglas 
evokes the idea, illustrating through its mockery that the comparison was both current and 
galling to the play’s opponents: 
 
Ye wolves in sheep’s clothing I pray you draw near, 
Nor lecture, nor sermon, nor psalm shall ye hear; 
I sing our Scotch Shakespear, that promising youth, 
Whose tragedy puts this new song in my mouth.  
(The Apostle to the Theatre, 1757: ll.1-4) 
 
A probably apocryphal story (it seems to first appear in print in the early nineteenth century) 
tells how at the close of the first performance of Douglas in Edinburgh, an enthused member 
of the audience gave a cry of “Whaur’s yer Wullie Shakespeare noo?” (Emslie 1964). The 
Shakespeare comparison continued into the nineteenth century. As late as 1860, a review of the 
recently published memoirs of John Home’s friend Alexander Carlyle described the advent of 
Douglas: “The actors were instructed in their parts by the wits and philosophers, and applauded 
when the curtain drew up by the beauty and fashion, and John Home was the Scottish 
Shakespeare” (“Alexander Carlyle” 1860: 750).  
In Jane Austen’s 1816 novel Mansfield Park, when the characters are discussing what play they 
should select for a closet drama performance, their initial reference points are William 
Shakespeare and John Home, with Tom Bertram observing, 
How many a time have we mourned over the dead body of Julius Caesar, and to be’d and not 
to be’d, in this very room, for his amusement? And I am sure, my name was Norval, every 
evening of my life through one Christmas holidays. 
          (Austen 1816: 118) 
Austen’s characters thus put Shakespeare’s Juliet Caesar, Hamlet, and Home’s Douglas, 
together on the same level. A similar levelling appears in non-literary references to Douglas. 
Scenes and characters from Home’s play were popular subjects for household ornaments 
(Schkolne 2013). A pair of vases from the early nineteenth century sold in auction at Bonham’s 
 7
 
auctioneers in London on 21 June 2023 are illustrated with dramatic scenes. The catalogue 
describes them thus:  
“A magnificent pair of Flight, Barr and Barr Worcester Warwick vases by Thomas Baxter, circa 
1814-16” 
The campana shaped vases with gadrooned rims and two gilt twisted vine branch handles, 
applied with bands of white pearls and finely gilt acanthus leaf borders below, the bases and 
square pedestal feet with rose-pink grounds, painted by Thomas Baxter with theatrical subjects 
all around, each side showing a different scene… 
 
The scenes and characters are identified by the artist: 
 
DOUGLAS Act IV 
Norval: Art thou my mother? Ever let me kneel. 
 
TWO GENTLEMEN of VERONA Act V Sc.IV 
Val: Ruffian, let go that rude uncivil touch. 
 
AS YOU LIKE IT Act IV. Sc.III 
Oliver. Many will swoon when they do look on blood. 
 
DOUGLAS Act V 
Lord R.. The mother and her son. how curst I am! 
      
With a scene from Shakespeare and a scene from Home’s Douglas on either side of each vase, 
John Home and Shakespeare are, perhaps literally, put on a pedestal together. This connection 
between Home’s Douglas and Shakespeare is made not only through paratextual means; 
Douglas also incorporates several textual allusions that link Home’s play to works by 
Shakespeare, to the extent that the play has been described as “throughout an imitation of 
Shakespearean tragedy” (Christie 1999: 65). At the play’s opening. the lead character of Lady 
Randolph is dressed in black, having been in continual mourning for years, ostensibly for her 
dead brother who fell in battle. Her husband, Lord Randolph protests her excessive grief: 
 
Again these weeds of woe! say, dost thou well 
To feed a passion that consumes thy life? 
The living claim some duty; vainly thou  
Bestow’st thy cares upon the silent dead. 
    (Home 1756: 296) 
 
Lady Randolph here clearly echoes figures from Shakepeare. In a different genre, Twelfth 
Night (1601) features the character Olivia, who like Lady Randolph mourns for a lost brother 
to an extent that some consider unreasonable. 
 
 8
 
Feste. Good madonna, why mournest thou? 
Olivia. Good fool, for my brother’s death. 
Feste. I think his soul is in hell, madonna. 
Olivia. I know his soul is in heaven, fool.360 
Feste. The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother’s 
soul being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen. 
      (Twelfth Night, p. 1342, Act 1, sc.5, ll. 63-69) 
 
Another strong echo is Shakespeare’s Hamlet (1600), where when Prince Hamlet first appears, 
he is dressed in mourning and is berated by his mother, Queen Gertrude, for grieving too long: 
 
Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted color off 
And let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark. 
Do not forever with thy vailed lids 
Seek for thy noble father in the dust. 
Thou know’t ’tis common all that lives must die, 
Passing through nature to eternity. 
      (Hamlet, p. 387, Act 1, Sc. 2, ll. 66-71)  
 
The opening characterisation of Lady Randolph as a disruptive figure through her mourning 
weeds and her protracted grief thus creates clear literary echoes that evoke Shakespeare right 
from the outset of Douglas. 
 Lady Randolph’s backstory creates further connections with Shakespeare’s work. As 
we find out in the opening scene, Lady Randolph only pretends that she is mourning her 
brother; in fact she is mourning her husband, a member of the Douglas family, and her lost 
child who is also presumed dead. Her husband and child were kept secret because of a feud 
between her family and the Douglas family: 
 
Lady Rand. Alas! an ancient feud, 
Hereditary evil, was the source 
Of my misfortunes. Ruling fate decreed, 
That my brave brother should in battle save 
The life of Douglas’ son, our house’s foe: 
The youthful warriors vowed eternal friendship. 
To see the vaunted sister of his friend 
Impatient, Douglas to Balarmo came, 
Under a borrow’d name — my heart he gain’d; 
Nor did I long refuse the hand he begg’d […]. 
         (Home 1756, 303-4) 
 
But when her father finds out the true identity of his son’s friend, his threats compel Lady 
Randolph to deny the marriage: 
 
[M[y sire was told 
 9
 
That the false stranger was Lord Douglas’ son. 
Frantic with rage, the Baron drew his sword, 
And question’d me. Alone, forsaken, faint, 
Kneeling beneath his sword, faultr’ing I took 
An oath equivocal, that I ne’er would  
Wed one of DouglaS’ name. 
(Home 1756, 304) 
 
The backstory of Lady Randolph and Douglas, wedded in secret to evade the hostility of their 
warring families, clearly mirrors the situation of the lovers in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet 
(1594): 
 
Two households, both alike in dignity 
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, 
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, 
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. 
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes 
A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life, 
Whose misadventured piteous overthrows 
Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife. 
     (Romeo and Juliet p. 1127, Prologue, ll. 1-8) 
 
Romeo and Juliet had been revived in London in 1748 and became a very popular play in the 
mid eighteenth century (Ritchie and Sabor 2012:13), so again Home builds elements of plot 
and characterisation into Douglas that are clearly aimed at bringing Shakespeare to mind. 
 Another aspect of Douglas clearly evocative of Shakespeare is the character of 
Glenalvon, a malicious villain whose envy of young Norval/Douglas leads him to persuade 
Lord Randolph that his wife is having an affair with the youth (who is in fact her lost son now 
rediscovered), as he reveals in a soliliquy: 
 
 Norval, I’m told, has that alluring look, 
 ‘Twixt man and woman, which I have observed 
 To charm the nicer and fantastic dames, 
 Who are, like Lady Randolph, full of virtue. 
 In raising Randolph’s jealousy, I may 
 But point him to the truth. He seldom errs 
 Who thinks the worst he can of womankind. 
       (Home 1756: 343-44)   
 
Glenalvon’s malignity and cynicism and his plan to use jealousy to destroy those he hates, 
clearly affiliates him with the character of Iago in Shakespeare’s Othello 1604) and his plot to 
convince Othello that his wife is having an affair with his lieutenant Michael Cassio: 
 
 10
 
IAGO 
Cassio’s a proper man. Let me see now: 
To get his place and to plume up my will 
In double knavery—How? how?—Let’s see. 
After some time, to abuse Othello’s ⟨ear⟩ 
That he is too familiar with his wife. 
      (Othello p. 1067, Act 1, Sc. 3, ll. 389-93) 
 
The similarity between Glenalvon and Iago in character and plotting is also underscored by 
parallels in their speech, with Iago’s “I am not what I am” being evoked in Glenalvon’s 
declaration in Act II of Douglas that “I am not what I have been; what I should be” ((Othello 
p. 1061, Act 1, Sc. 1 l. 64; Home 1756: 324). 
 Verbal echoes of Shakespeare also appear in a speech of Lady Randolph in Act 4, where 
she speaks of her advancing age: 
 
      In me thou dost behold 
 The poor remains of beauty once admired: 
 The autumn of my days is come already: 
 For sorrow made my summer haste away. 
       (Home 1756: 355) 
 
Here the allusion is to Shakespeare’s sonnet 73: 
 
That time of year thou mayst in me behold 
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang 
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, 
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. 
         (Shakespeare 1609: 113) 
 
The parallelism of “in me though dost behold” and “thou mayst in me behold” and the common 
imagery of age as the coming of autumn give Lady Randolph’s dialogue clear Shakespearean 
overtones.  
 The elements of plot and characterisation and verbal echoes that Home has adapted 
from Shakespeare plays, ensure that the connections between Douglas and Shakespeare’s 
works are apparent for anyone who looks. Home has made a kind of patchwork play, creating 
his own story but interweaving it with elements from Shakespeare that declare his writing as 
affiliated with the bard. In embedding Shakespeare’s plots, characters, and words within his 
own text, John Home creates a kind of complementary intertextuality between his play and 
Shakespeare’s work. His allusions do little in the way or questioning and rewriting Shakespeare 
(though they might question ideas of Shakespeare as a quintessentially English writer). Rather, 
Douglas’s borrowing from Shakespeare’s plays are more like an homage, giving Home’s text 
a Shakespearean aura that asserts a sense of community between himself and the bard. 
 11
 
 
 An explanation for Home’s linking of his patriotic Scottish play with an English 
playwright may be found if we view it as a response to Scotland’s place within the political 
union of Great Britain in the mid eighteenth century. Scotland was an independent and wholly 
separate country up until the Union of Crowns in 1603, when King James VI of Scotland 
succeeded Elizabeth I as ruler of England. Even then, Scotland still had a separate and 
independent parliament until 1707, when the Scottish parliament was dissolved and unified 
with the English parliament in Westminster. After these events, there was concern that this 
political unification had resulted not in a union of equals, but with Scotland being a junior 
partner, subordinate to England (Du Toit 2006: 311). This resulted in considerable ambivalence 
towards the Union: “a complex and often pessimistic view of Scotland’s place as a nation” 
(Stoner 2012: 36). 
These concerns were strengthened by the Jacobite uprising of 1745, led by the Catholic Prince 
Charles Edward Stuart, or Bonnie Prince Charlie as he was popularly known, Charles was a 
descendant of King James II, who had been deposed in 1685, and he sought to overthrow the 
Protestant Hanoverian monarchy of Britain and restore the Stuart line to the throne of Britain. 
The uprising saw several victories by the Jacobites before they were finally defeated at the 
Battle of Culloden in 1746. Of course, many Scots opposed the Jacobites and many English 
people supported them. But the rebellion began in Scotland and initial support came from 
among the Highland clans. Accordingly, Scotland came to be viewed with a jaundiced eye by 
many English politicians. Scots in general were often depicted as a backwards people, out of 
step with the civilized values of England, and ultimately as a threat to the stability of Great 
Britain (McGinley 2012: 68-69). This was notably expressed in the British national anthem, 
“God Save the King”, which in a version from 1745, reportedly featured a verse urging that the 
British military should “Like a torrent rush / Rebellious Scots to crush” (“The History of ‘God 
Save the King’” 1836: 373). 
 This context is important for understanding the patriotic values of John Home’s 
Douglas. Home is not seeking an independent Scotland, or advocating separatism from 
England. Rather, he is seeking to counter the negative views of Scotland by showing the nation 
to be capable of cultivating significant literary talent, challenging the depiction of Scotland as 
a backward and benighted country. The use of allusions to Shakespeare in Douglas has a double 
effect in this regard. Firstly, the Shakespearean echoes imply that Home is emulating 
Shakespeare’s achievement in Scotland in producing “tragedy of the first rate” and so they are 
a means of staking a claim to cultural parity between England and Scotland. Secondly, by 
affiliating his drama so strongly with Shakespeare, Home provides reassurance that Scotland 
is not out of step with England nor antagonistic to English culture; rather, by inscribing 
Shakespeare within his Scottish play, he asserts a community of values between Scotland and 
England that envisions the two nations as coming together harmoniously within the political 
union of Great Britain. 
 One further aspect of Home’s Shakespearean allusions perhaps unsettles the patriotic 
unionism that his play seems to promote. When Douglas was performed in London in March 
1757, it was given a new prologue. Where the Edinburgh prologue had celebrated Douglas as 
a Scottish patriotic hero, the London prologue emphasises cooperation between Scotland and 
 12
 
England, balancing out the play’s Scottish patriotism by invoking the noble Percy family as 
English heroes: 
 
Who has not heard of gallant Percy’s name?  
Ay, and of Douglas? Such illustrious foes 
In rival Rome and Carthage never rose! … 
But whilst these generous rivals fought and fell,  
These generous rivals loved each other well:  
Though many a bloody field was lost and won,  
Nothing in hate, in honour all was done. 
(Douglas, Prologue Spoken at London, ll. 4-15) 
 
The historic rivalry between the Douglas and Percy families evokes the current conflicts and 
tensions between Scotland and England while the stress on mutual respect and a common set 
of values between the “generous rivals” provides reassurance of a harmonious union between 
the Scots and the English. The Percy family’s most notable figure in literature, however, 
appears in Shakespeare, in the character of Henry Percy, known as Hotspur, in Henry IV – Part 
One (1592). Shakespeare’s Hotspur is certainly courageous and has just complaints about being 
mistreated by King Henry IV. But he is the play’s antagonist, being a foil to Prince Hal, the 
future Henry V. Hotspur is also a rebel against two kings, Richard II and Henry IV, which gives 
some perspective on the image of “rebellious Scots”. He also appears as a rather bombastic and 
prideful character; Theodore Meron describes him as “the paradigm of the excessive, self-
centred and ego maniacal knight…. He is vain and his rhetoric inflated, making him almost a 
caricature” (Meron 1996: 126), In citing the Percy family as the epitome of English valour, 
then, Home may be using Shakespearean reference to offer subtle criticism of England’s 
dominant position within the union and its claims to cultural pre-eminence. 
Considering how John Home uses Shakespearean allusion to model his own work as following 
in Shakespearean tradition, shows that allusion is not just a formal matter. Allusion is used by 
Home to link his own work to the figure of Shakespeare in order to negotiate complicated 
intercultural relationships: Home evokes Shakespeare to assert Scotland’s ability to match the 
cultural accomplishments represented by the bard, to affirm a community of values between 
Scotland and England embodied in the figure of Shakespeare, and also to express frustration at 
the inequalities and imbalances in the British union that Home’s Douglas is trying to surmount. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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74.  
 16
 
BEATNIKS AND SPUTNIKS: THE EXPLORATION OF LONELINESS IN HARUKI MURAKAMI’S 
SPUTNIK SWEETHEART   
 
Tuğba ELMAS2 
 
ABSTRACT 
The present study examines the representation of loneliness in Haruki Murakami’s novel 
Sputnik Sweetheart (2002), as depicted in the solitude of Sputnik, the world’s first man-made 
satellite. Similar to Murakami’s other works of fiction, the novel’s portrayal of modern-day 
alienation can be construed as a Nietzschean mode of existence — “eternal recurrence” since 
the narration hints at its repeated inevitability. However, Murakami constructs this repetition 
in connection with “the other world,” where the reality of the self, as it is perceived by the 
characters, is challenged, dismantled, and recreated. Drawing attention to the magical elements 
contained in this other world, the study contextualizes the novel within magical realism, 
thereby exploring the transversal potentiality of the other world, which may or may not break 
the cycle of the characters’ eternal recurrence of their loneliness. In this light, the close reading 
of the otherworldly experiences of the three characters, Sumire, Miu, and K., reveals a subtle 
link between the other world and its destructive and creative potentiality. The study proposes 
that while the eternal recurrence permeates the text, willingness to face one’s flawed self and 
concomitant pain may lead to a connection with the self and the other, whereas lack of such 
willingness may lead to death-like isolation, both from the self and the other. The fluidity 
between the two realms of the novel, as well as its open end, however, defies a clear-cut 
correlation, leaving an ambiguous space of exploration that echoes Sputnik itself.  
Keywords: magical realism, alienation, eternal recurrence  
 
INTRODUCTION AND THE CONCEPTUAL FRAMEWORK 
A leading researcher of psychology on loneliness, Ami Rokach delineates the prevalence and 
complexity of loneliness by positioning it both as a universal phenomenon and a subjective 
experience (2013: 1). This duality inherent in the human experience of loneliness hints at its 
commonality, and contrary to its repeated presence, it entails a sense of privacy that, dictated 
by social norms of acceptability and normalcy, envelops its own commonality. This socially 
circumscribed exposure of loneliness necessitates a multilayered conceptualization that 
addresses its prevalent existence, its unique actualization, and its transformative potentiality. 
Contextualized within this ambiguous complexity, the present paper examines the literary 
representation of loneliness as depicted in Haruki Murakami’s novel Sputnik Sweetheart 
(2002). Echoing Rokach’s definition of loneliness, Murakami’s novel, along with most of his 
fiction—if not all, reveals a complex relationality between the universal and the personal 
experiences of loneliness in a constant cycle of destruction and recreation of the self. 
Accordingly, the paper situates Murakami’s construction of loneliness as a prevalent, repetitive, 
and ambiguous phenomenon within Nietzsche’s concept of eternal recurrence, also referred to 
 
2 Dr. Researcher, İstanbul, Turkey, tubaelmass@gmail.com.  
 17
 
as eternal return. The cyclical representation of loneliness permeated through the ambiguous 
narratorial structure of the novel is further explored within magical realism. 
The correlation between Murakami’s exploration of loneliness and Nietzsche’s concept of 
eternal recurrence, as can be understood from their definitive characteristics, lies in the circular 
movement that shapes both conceptualizations. In alignment with the ambiguity of these 
terminologies, eternal recurrence is presented in two distinct ways: first, as a metaphysical 
reality that constructs “the wheel of being” (Nietzsche, 2006: 175) and second, as a challenge 
against one’s passive and static attitude toward one’s existence. The first interpretation suggests 
that individuals experience the same life, the same feelings, and the same existence over and 
over again in the infinity of time, thereby positioning individuals within an unchangeable 
cyclical reality. While this metaphysical construction of eternal recurrence may become “the 
heaviest weight” for the individual (Nietzsche, 2001: 194), the second supposition is imbued 
with undertones of transformation. In The Gay Science, Nietzsche imagines a demon coming 
to us in our “loneliest loneliness” and asking if we would be willing to experience “every pain 
and every joy and every thought and sigh and everything unspeakably small or great. . . all in 
the same succession and sequence” (Nietzsche, 2001: 194). By posing the question of eternal 
recurrence in a moment of utmost vulnerability—in one’s loneliest loneliness—Nietzsche 
invites one to re-evaluate and reconnect with one’s life and existence, affirming the interplay 
of its opposing forces. In this regard, the paper utilizes both interpretations of eternal recurrence 
to demonstrate the different layers of loneliness revealed in Sputnik. 
As a novelist whose works are characterized explicitly by their detached, disillusioned, and 
primarily passive characters, Murakami often creates an alternative world within the world he 
constructs in his narrative. As Matthew C. Stretcher points out, this alternative and magical 
world is defined differently by different critics, such as naibu (the interior), achiragawa (over 
there), or internal reality (2014: 15). Stretcher himself refers to it as a “forbidden world” in his 
title (2014), underlining its distinction from the existing, acceptable, objective world. Despite 
the variety of the terms used, however, the existence of the seemingly “unreal” world permeates 
Murakami’s narratives. The present study argues that the cyclical structure of loneliness 
portrayed in Murakami’s novel is solidified through the duality of these worlds—here and 
there—which subverts one’s notion of reality and fantasy. In this regard, the novel is framed 
within the specific narratorial preferences of magical realism. 
Imbued with what Wendy B. Faris calls “an irreducible element of magic” (2004: 7) that 
Sputnik also entails, magical realism defies the monolithic conceptualizations of reality through 
the co-existence of two worlds, with a “provocative and unsettling tension between real and 
unreal” (Napier, 2003: 453). This deconstruction of boundaries indicates the incorporation of 
certain forms of cultural and political expressions into the literary text, as can be seen in the 
prevalence of magical realism in Latin American and postcolonial settings, where the 
defamiliarization of marginal voices in the realistic texts is rendered familiar through the 
interwoven worlds of the real and unreal, thereby subverting the fixity inherent in the striated 
relationship between the visible and invisible, as well as the exterior and interior. 
It is important to note, however, that the liminality of magical realism as a subversive literary 
mode of expression goes beyond textual attempts at refuting cultural and political 
marginalization. Rather, its “discursive heterogeneity” (Faris, 2004: 1) provides an opportunity 
for the exemplification of various submerged narratives. It is within this highly heterogeneous 
 18
 
discursive space that the present paper situates Murakami’s novel, which, in ways more than 
one, defamiliarizes the real with the presence of an “other world” that may or may not 
perpetuate the cycle of eternal recurrence. 
AIM 
The present study aims to explore the literary representation of loneliness in Murakami’s novel 
Sputnik Sweetheart by employing an interdisciplinary framework that may reflect the 
prevalence and complexity of the human experience of loneliness. The paper, therefore, utilizes 
Nietzsche’s concept of eternal recurrence in an attempt to present the universal and personal 
dimensions of loneliness portrayed in the novel. Furthermore, the paper situates Sputnik within 
magical realism to explore the opposing forces in one’s life that characterize Nietzsche’s eternal 
recurrence of existence and to examine the transversal potentiality of the “other world” in the 
destruction and recreation of the self. 
SCOPE 
Examining loneliness in Sputnik Sweetheart in connection with the philosophical formulation 
of eternal recurrence and magical realism, the present study focuses on loneliness in a relational 
context. It examines loneliness as an transformative phenomenon that encourages one to 
confront oneself, which may, in Nietzsche’s words, either transform or crush the self (2001: 
194). Accordingly, the present study positions Murakami’s implementation of magical realism 
not as a politicized narratorial tool to subvert certain cultural or political representations in a 
cross-cultural clash of domination but as a means to challenge and, if possible, subvert the self. 
In this sense, the analysis of the novel as a magical realist text differs from the magical realist 
exploration of Japanese texts that reflect a politicized tension between the Western (modern) 
and the Japanese (traditional) ways of existence (Napier, 2003: 454). Similarly, the study 
refrains from an exclusively psychological interpretation of Murakami’s magical world, as can 
be seen in the critiques that interlink the bizarre and magical in his works with one’s inner 
world—the unconscious (Stretcher, 2014: 5). Instead, the scope of the present paper merges 
the contextual situationality and the internal confrontations of the characters through the 
existential universalism and particularity of eternal recurrence. 
METHODOLOGY 
The study employs thematic analysis through a close reading of the selected text and 
identifying the implicit dynamism between the real and magical worlds reflected in the novel. 
Even though most of Murakami’s fiction narrates the modern-day alienation of the individual, 
Sputnik Sweetheart has been chosen as the focus of the study due to its universal undertones, 
which, along with its highly individualized narrative, portrays a more complex experience of 
loneliness. The theoretical framework for the novel, eternal recurrence and magical realism, 
has also been employed to reflect the existential presence of loneliness in the urban modernity 
of Murakami’s heterogeneous narrative. 
ANALYSIS 
Sputnik Sweetheart narrates the interlinked loneliness of three characters, Sumire, Miu, and K., 
whose subjectivities are positioned in a liminal space. An aspiring Japanese writer and a college 
dropout, Sumire is presented as an outsider in the urban setting of Tokyo, which is further 
emphasized by her alienation as a motherless child. Miu, on the other hand, functions 
 19
 
seemingly well; she is a successful businesswoman with a respectable marriage. Soon, 
however, her life also reveals undertones of loneliness since her marriage turns out to be 
nothing more than an agreement, and her Korean nationality within Japanese culture marks her 
as a foreigner. K., a typical male protagonist in Murakami’s fiction, experiences an invisible 
boundary between himself and others; his alienation and detachment are shown through his 
unconventional relationships with women who are older, married, or have steady boyfriends. 
Similar to Murakami’s other works of fiction that focalize individuals who neither belong to 
mainstream society nor countercultural groups, the novel portrays “a double layer of social 
isolation” (Reese, 2019: 149). Despite these three different categories of alienation, the novel 
interweaves their unique experiences into an existential struggle, reflecting their universal 
dimension.  
The experience of loneliness depicted in the novel serves as a trigger for change, be it positive 
or negative. Echoing Nietzsche’s demon who comes in one’s loneliest loneliness, Sputnik 
merges narratives of alienation and transformation. The nature of this transformation, however, 
is contingent on one’s acceptance of oneself and life as they are, in their complexity and 
ambiguity. In line with Faris’ argument that magical events in an otherwise realistic agenda 
underline central issues in a text (2004: 9), Murakami constructs an alternative world that 
solidifies one’s loneliness and the aspects of oneself that one would rather not see. The 
integration of magical experiences into the normalcy of the realistic narrative then accentuates 
the novel’s association of loneliness with one’s sense of self and the affirmation of life. 
This correlation can easily be seen in the novel’s depiction of Miu’s otherworldly experience, 
which leads not to a creative transformation of the self but to a death-like stagnancy. Presented 
as a collected and sophisticated Korean woman born and raised in Japan, Miu witnesses the 
presence of an alternative, and much to her dismay, unpleasant world during her short stay in 
a small Swiss town. When she is trapped in a Ferris wheel in the already closed amusement 
park near her house, Miu locates her apartment window through her binoculars. What she sees 
there is not an empty room awaiting her return but herself, wearing the same clothes she is 
wearing in the Ferris wheel. The outward similarity of her two selves, however, does not go 
beyond the appearance. The Miu in the apartment is having a “grotesquely exaggerated, 
menacing” intercourse with Ferdinando, a Spanish man whose presence is perceived as a threat 
by Miu earlier in the novel (Murakami, 2002: 165). By narrating the event from the “real” 
Miu’s perspective, the novel instantly creates two distinct subjectivities within one person. 
While the Miu trapped in the Ferris wheel is disgusted and horrified by the scene, the other 
Miu “didn’t resist. She—the Miu in the apartment—let him do whatever he wanted, thoroughly 
enjoying the rising passion” (Murakami, 2002: 165). 
The almost contradictory subjectivities of the two Mius in the narrative do not indicate a clear-
cut distinction between the two realms—the real and the magical. Rather than presenting two 
mutually exclusive worlds, the novel constantly highlights the connectedness of these two 
worlds through their influence on the self. Faris defines the positionality of a magical realist 
vision as “an imaginary point inside a double-sided mirror that reflects in both directions” 
(2004: 21). Similarly, Miu claims that “a single mirror separates us from the other side” 
(Murakami, 2002: 167). The mirror image in both of these depictions of the two realms 
demonstrates their inherent connectivity with the self, as the main object reflected in a mirror 
is inevitably the subject himself/herself. The Murakami reader is no stranger to the imagery of 
the mirror as a supernatural confrontation with the self. The unnamed narrator in his short story, 
 20
 
the Mirror, for example, encounters his own image in an imaginary mirror and tells his listeners, 
“The most frightening thing in the world is our own self” (Murakami, 2007: 73). The other 
side, therefore, is transformed into a series of textual images upon which the self in its most 
naked form is projected. 
The second Miu’s enjoyment of sex, specifically with Ferdinando, someone from whom she 
has been running away, sheds light on the function of the other world. Before the Ferris wheel 
incident, the reader is informed that Miu’s pleasant stay in the Swiss town is disrupted by her 
sudden unease with her perception of the environment: 
              After living there ten days, she started to feel a kind of impediment attaching itself to her life in the town. 
The thoroughly lovely, neat-as-a-pin town now seemed narrow-minded, self righteous. The people were friendly 
and kind enough, but she started to feel an invisible prejudice against her as an Asian. The wine she drank in 
restaurants suddenly had a bad aftertaste. She found worms In the vegetables she bought. The performances at the 
music festival sounded listless. She couldn’t concentrate on her music. Even her apartment, which she thought 
quite comfortable, began to look to her like a poorly decorated, squalid place. (Murakami, 2002: 156) 
Miu’s increasing unease with her surroundings, not particularly activated by any outside event, 
is thus solidified in the Ferris wheel, where she sees her second self. Importantly, once Miu 
chooses to be horrified by the second self who gets involved with Ferdinando, the dynamics 
between the two selves shift. The Miu in the Ferris wheel turns into an “empty shell” 
(Murakami, 2002:  217), “a shadow of who I [she] was” (Murakami, 2002: 170). Miu’s 
rejection of herself, her loneliness, and her insecurities change the Miu in the apartment from 
a mere reflection of her unconscious to an active, and sometimes life-threatening, agent of 
transformation. It is no wonder, then, that Miu loses all her sexual desire, her periods, and the 
color of her hair after her otherworldly experience. Rather than breaking through the mirror 
that separates her two selves, she remains split in two, with her livelier self on the other side. 
Here, Murakami’s use of the Ferris wheel is quite telling, as it entails an endless circularity. In 
a similar vein, Miu’s subjectivity, negated by her rejection of herself, is entrapped in an eternal 
recurrence of loneliness. Put another way, if Nietzsche’s demon were to come and ask Miu if 
she would live everything over and over again in her loneliest loneliness, that is, in the Ferris 
wheel, it would crush her more than transform her, leading ironically to a circle of pain and 
suffering without any joy in between. 
Murakami’s construction of the real and magical realms also raises questions about the 
boundaries set for the self and others. Miu’s experience in the Ferris wheel, for example, does 
not only reveal another self that is foreign to her own perception of herself but a world that 
defies classifications and boundaries; certainty turns into uncertainty. After Miu’s narration of 
her otherworldly experience, she confesses to a confused Sumire that “In the end it wasn’t even 
Ferdinando any more” (Murakami, 2002: 166). Distinctive identities are transformed into 
formless generalities. Ferdinando’s defined presence becomes the unknown, which is scarier 
than what is on the surface, the known. Likewise, in his trip to Greece to find Sumire, K. 
experiences an otherworldly moment, where he realizes “at a glance, I knew. My hand was no 
longer my hand, my legs no longer my legs” (Murakami, 2002: 179). Simply by stepping into 
the other side, the familiar becomes unfamiliar, necessitating a re-evaluation and re-formation 
of the known. In this sense, Murakami utilizes the magical world to present loneliness as a 
potential gateway into the recreation of the self. It is no coincidence that Miu’s otherworldly 
experience takes place in a small Swiss town close to the French border, while K.’s experience 
takes place on a small Greek island near the Turkish border. Murakami, and his textual 
formulation of the magical, seem to suggest an implicit correlation between the deconstruction 
 21
 
of borders, loneliness, and transformation, as is the case with magical realism, which is shaped 
and nurtured by multiplicities within formerly monolithic categories of reality and fiction 
(Faris, 2004: 23). 
In this light, the novel distinguishes forms of loneliness and their potentiality through one’s 
willingness to accept the other world, the unknown. This is specifically presented in K.’s 
incomplete experience of the formless other world in Greece: 
              Time reversed itself, looped back, collapsed, reordered itself. The world stretched out endlessly—and yet 
was defined and limited. Sharp images—just the images alone—passed down dark corridors, like jellyfish, like 
souls adrift. But I steeled myself not to look at them. If I acknowledged them, even a little, they would envelop 
themselves in meaning. Meaning was fixed to the temporal, and the temporal was trying to force me to rise to the 
surface. I shut my mind tight to it all, waiting for the procession to pass. (Murakami, 2002: 180) 
When contextualized within the entirety of the narrative, K.’s resistance to experience the other 
side is construed as a rejection of the confrontation with his loneliness and, in turn, the 
opportunity to recreate his sense of self. Ironically, while K.’s detachment from genuine human 
connection constitutes the zone of the known, its potential disappearance foregrounds 
uncertainty and danger. By revealing  K.’s resistance to experience the magical, the novel, 
therefore, underlines his unwillingness to create genuine human connection and experience 
pain, as can be seen in his uncommitted relationships where he does not need to have any real 
attachment to his partners, who are already in other, and committed, relationships. In this light, 
Nietzsche’s question to the reader becomes relevant, “How well disposed would you have to 
become to yourself and to life to long for nothing more fervently than for this ultimate eternal 
confirmation and seal?” (Nietzsche, 2001: 194-5, emphasis in the original). Through its 
different depictions of the other world and the characters’ reactions to it, Sputnik also seems to 
explore this question, correlating one’s acceptance of oneself and others (relationships and 
potential pain) and one’s experience of eternal recurrence as a transformative experience. 
Despite the interplay between loneliness, the other world, and transformation in the narrative, 
Sputnik preserves a certain distance to provide easily-handed categorizations. The novel’s only 
character who breaks through the mirror between the two worlds is Sumire, as she is the only 
one acting on her feelings of love toward Miu, a married woman 17 years her senior, thinking 
that unless she tries to create a connection with Miu, at the risk of rejection and loneliness, 
“slowly but surely I [she] will fade away” (Murakami, 2002: 150). However, Murakami does 
not construct Sumire’s confession and concomitant experience of the other world as an 
exemplification of a happily transformed and recreated self. Instead, Sumire disappears from 
the “real” world and is supposedly stuck or chooses to remain on the other side.  
What, then, does Sumire’s willingness to experience loneliness and suffering mean in the 
ambiguous narrative of the novel, which seems to strip its characters of their happiness? The 
answer lies in the return or recurrence of the self. Once the self is detached from itself, it circles 
back to itself, and it is in this circularity that the self transforms. In this vein, the end of the 
novel reveals Sumire at a phone booth, calling K., with a cigarette in her hand—an image 
presented at the beginning of the novel. However, the reader is not encouraged to assume that 
these two images are identical, as Sumire’s attempt to say “yes” to Nietzsche’s demon is 
depicted as a boomerang, “But the boomerang that returns is not the same one I [Sumire] threw” 
(Murakami, 2002: 151). Accordingly, the novel differentiates between the otherworldly 
explorations of loneliness through one’s association with Sputnik and Beatnik; the former 
 22
 
indicating no return as a man-made satellite lost in space, while the latter transforming the pain 
of loneliness into a promised return.3 
CONCLUSION 
In one of their conversations, K. tells Sumire, “If it’s something a single book can explain, it’s 
not worth having explained” (Murakami, 2002: 58). Considering its self-referentiality, 
Sputnik’s portrayal of loneliness, imbued with universal and individual expressions of eternal 
recurrence, serves more as a question than an answer for loneliness—a phenomenon a single 
book cannot explain. Accordingly, the present paper has attempted to explore the intricate 
dynamism between Sputnik’s construction of loneliness and transformation in connection with 
Nietzsche’s concept of eternal recurrence and magical realism. By presenting his characters’ 
loneliness through an otherworldly experience, Murakami solidifies the ambiguity and 
complexity of human loneliness and its dualistic potential. In this light, the present paper argues 
that transformation in the narratives of the self is navigated by a Nietzschean sensibility to 
subvert the undesirability of the self and exist in an eternal recurrence of pain and joy, of 
loneliness and connection, and one might even add, of the real and magical, through which 
selves are confronted, deconstructed, and reassembled.   
 
3 In the novel, Sumire’s favorite book by Jack Kerouac, a Beatnik writer, is Lonesome Traveler, which explores 
loneliness as a transformative experience (Murakami, 2002: 7). Murakami contrasts it with Sputnik through a 
word play, which ironically sheds light on the different presentations of loneliness. 
 23
 
BIBLIOGRAPHY  
Faris, W. B., (2004). Ordinary Enchantments: Magical Realism and the Remystification of 
Narrative. Vanderbilt University Press. 
Murakami, H., (2007). The Mirror. In Blind Willow, Sleeping Women. (J. Rubin and P. Gabriel, 
Trans.). Vintage International. 
Murakami, H., (2002). Sputnik Sweetheart (P. Gabriel, Trans.). Vintage. (Original work 
published 1999). 
Napier, S. J., (2003). The Magic of Identity: Magic Realism in Modern Japanese Fiction. In L. 
P. Zamora and W. B. Faris (Eds.), Magical Realism: Theory, History, Community (pp. 451–
476). Duke University Press. 
Nietzsche, F., (2006). Thus Spoke Zarathustra. (A. Del Caro, Trans.). Cambridge University 
Press. (Originally published work 1883). 
Nietzsche, F., (2001). The Gay Science. (J. Nauckhoff and A. Del Caro, Trans.). Cambridge 
University Press. (Originally published work 1882). 
Reese, S. V. H., (2019). Blue Notes: Jazz, Literature, and Loneliness. Louisiana State 
University Press. 
Rokach A., (2013). Loneliness Updated: An Introduction. In A. Rokach (Ed.), Loneliness 
Updated: Recent Research on Loneliness and How It Affects Our Lives (pp. 1–6). Routledge. 
Strecher, M. C., (2014). The Forbidden Worlds of Haruki Murakami. University of Minnesota 
Press. 
  
 24
 
GROTESQUE BODY, ABJECTION AND DEATH IN THE CITY IN CRIMSON CLOAK 
 
Bilge Sevim Soykut4 
 
ABSTRACT 
 
Turkish novelist Aslı Erdoğan’s novel The City in Crimson Cloak (published in Turkey in 1999 
and translated into English in 2007) is the story of a Turkish expatriate, Özgür, who spends two 
years in Rio de Janeiro trying to survive violence, poverty, disease, hunger, and filth. The novel 
is a dual narrative with a doubled protagonist, Özgür and her semi-fictional character O. Özgür 
is writing her own version of The City in Crimson Cloak (printed in italics in the book), 
which  flashes in pieces throughout the frame narrative. The story revolves around the last day 
of Özgür and ends when she is killed by a couple of muggers. The novel is rife with images of 
grotesque bodies, profanity, monstrosities, corporeality, and people of streets. It can be read as 
the degradation of a Rio image as an exotic haven and holiday destination which nestles highly 
regarded middle-class values such as wealth, hygiene, seclusion, and entertainment. Although 
at first glance the plot elements of The City in Crimson Cloak seem to display Bakhtinian 
carnivalesque-grotesque elements such as free contact among people, materiality of the world 
and the body, and festive madness; I observe that the protagonist’s persistent judgment towards 
the city approximates the narrative to what Julia Kristeva calls the abject -- an entity provokes 
in us disgust, revulsion, hate, horror, and loathing. This article analyzes the protagonist’s 
abjective reactions to the grotesque occurrences by explaining Mikhail Bakhtin’s 
carnivalesque-grotesque body concept and by comparing it to Kristeva’s formative overview 
of the abject. Through this comparison, the article tries to show the degree of ambivalence the 
narrative adopts in approaching the realities of an entire city, monstrosity, corporeality, 
madness, and death.   
 
Key Words: abject, grotesque body, ambivalence, Mikhail Bakhtin, Julia Kristeva 
 
 
Turkish novelist Aslı Erdoğan’s novel The City in Crimson Cloak (published in Turkey in 1999 
and translated into English in 2007) is a story of wandering through Rio de Janeiro. The 
protagonist Özgür is a Turkish expatriate in Rio de Janeiro for two years. The general tone of 
the novel is marked by Özgür’s depressed mood. She has lost her part-time job at a language 
school. She gives private lessons but barely earns any money. She has no true friends but a few 
acquaintances. Her story tells how she tries to survive in Rio and how she resists the idea of 
being defeated by the intensity of violence, poverty, disease, hunger, and filth in a city “a third 
of whose population lives on the verge of starvation … a city which grows fat from its trade in 
cheap mulatto flesh, cocaine, and arms” (CC5 10).  
 
She refuses to leave Rio before she completes her personal quest: the only driving force behind 
her persistence is her own autobiographical piece which is also titled The City in Crimson 
Cloak. Erdoğan’s novel is a dual narrative with a doubled protagonist, Özgür and her semi-
fictional character O. Özgür is writing her own version of The City in Crimson Cloak (printed 
 
4 Aydın Adnan Menderes University, School of Foreign Languages, Aydın/Turkey, bilge.soykut@adu.edu.tr. 
5 The title of the novel The City in Crimson Cloak will be cited as CC. 
 25
 
in italics in the book), which  flashes in pieces throughout the frame narrative. The story 
revolves around the last day of Özgür and ends when she is killed by a couple of muggers. 
  
For Özgür, writing is the only solution to maintain her sanity, to make sense of it all – life and 
death in Rio: “Writing meant first and foremost putting things into order, and Rio, if it were to 
be defined in just one word, was CHAOS” (30). By means of writing, she naively hopes to 
“capture Rio like a butterfly in her hand, and to gently imprison it in her words, without killing 
it” (84). However, as we later see in the novel, comparing Rio to a butterfly and expecting to 
“capture” it with words is nothing but naivety. The exotic butterfly imagery in Özgür’s mind is 
in stark contrast to the roaring, flowing, sweating, steaming aggregation of people and Rio as 
the city of carnival and uncontrollable life force. What brings Özgür’s tragic downfall in the 
end is her failure to participate in the reality of Rio; it is her thinking in terms of binary 
oppositions. Özgür’s Rio is always the opposite of Istanbul.  
 
In a review of the novel, Kaelen Wilson-Goldie points out that Özgür’s fictional character O 
has literary precedents. The most obvious one, she says, is Anne Desclos’ erotic novel The 
Story of O. Another observation by Goldie is that O stands for an orifice, a hole, a receptacle 
for all the peculiarities of Rio. The validity of this observation – the function and effectiveness 
of O as a receptacle – is to be discussed in the following paragraphs.   
 
The general reception of the novel, especially in Turkey, reflects readers’ enthusiasm about this 
book. Readers usually express that they are fascinated by this dark portrait of Rio because such 
a representation subverts the stereotypical Rio in their minds with its “objectivity”, “boldness”, 
and “sincerity”6. This is partly because the novel is rife with images of grotesque bodies, 
profanity, monstrosities, corporeality, and people of streets. The novel claims to be the 
degradation of a Rio image as an exotic haven and holiday destination which nestles highly 
regarded middle-class values such as wealth, hygiene, seclusion, and entertainment. Below is 
an introduction to the city like the ones you can find on a tourist brochure, but this one comes 
with a dark twist:  
 
This will be a journey within arrow range of a creature that makes its monstrosity felt at each 
and every moment; the stench of death’s breath constantly in your face; eyes laden with 
darkness; perversity always just a step behind… As if you are leaning over a well and suddenly 
realize that the creature is stalking you… You will encounter the human body as an illicit gift 
intended to ingratiate, set upon the miserable throne of desire’s realm. The idiocy, incomparable 
beauty, and inextinguishable fire of flesh; a light, volatile, fickle life, and a death at every 
corner… (11) 
 
Rio in this novel is definitely not a pleasant picture and it does not try to be; but it does portray 
the underbelly of this city. Nevertheless, how the novel conveys this portrayal is the ultimate 
question of this analysis. Does it really subvert the stereotypical Rio in our minds and our class-
based values? Does it really communicate the viscous flow of life and folk culture in this city 
of carnival? How do the grotesquery, profanity, monstrosity, life-death cycle, and folk culture 
contribute to the overall texture? 
 
 
6https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1758902.The_City_in_Crimson_Cloak?from_search=true&search_ve
rsion=service 
 
 26
 
As a critic of Russian formalism, Mikhail Bakhtin always emphasized the transgressive 
function of literature. He was concerned with the ways formalism treated literature as a closed, 
purely literary mechanism. Such a treatment strangled the transgressive energy of literature, 
which must be directed not at conventions of literature itself but at dominant ideologies and 
institutions, at the interaction between the social and the literary.  
 
In a similar fashion, the exciting transgressive potential of literature has been acknowledged 
and described by M. Keith Booker in his book Techniques of Subversion in Modern Literature. 
Booker states that the question of transgression in literature is complex and difficult to answer, 
and it can be almost impossible to document the actual political impact of literature. After all, 
he says, “even the most transgressive works of literature do not in general send their readers 
into the streets carrying banners and shouting slogans” (4). But it does something. It subtly 
“chips away at certain modes of thinking” that contribute to permanence of oppressive 
ideologies and political structures (4).   
 
Alfred Edward Housman, the modernist British poet, expresses a similar purpose of literature 
in general, and poetry in particular, in his “Terence, This Is Stupid Stuff.” The poem is a 
dialogue between a poet named Terence and a tavern dweller who scolds Terence for writing 
about melancholic and troubling issues. The dweller says poetry must be gay and amusing and 
Terence must “pipe a tune to dance to.” Terence, in return, responds that poetry must go beyond 
mere entertainment and gaiety by presenting troubling, confusing, defiant images in order to 
poke our world-view and prepare us for the realities of the world.  
 
According to Bakhtin, the orthodox literary critical tendency can be to dismiss the unpleasant, 
dark, exaggerated images of grotesque realism as absurd, unpleasant, crude, and inappropriate. 
However, one must always remember that behind all the gaiety, festive images, comic violence, 
merry-making, and unleashed profanity of carnivalesque settings lies the literary purpose of 
showing an alternative world with its universality, entirety, ambivalence, and unpalatable 
realities; an unfamiliar frame of reference with its rich potential to refresh ours. This is why 
Bakhtin saw in Rabelais’ carnivalesque works a philosophy, a particular approach to life as a 
means of managing terror and attaining political power.  
 
One of the premises of carnivalesque works is that they celebrate “free and familiar contact 
among people” (PDP 123). For Bakhtin, carnival is not a spectacle seen by people; it is 
something to be experienced with all the senses. People live in it. There is no other life outside 
the carnival and the flow of life is geared by spontaneity (RW 7). The collective participation 
in the carnivalesque spirit is to acknowledge the materiality of the world, the universal human 
experience, and an intense feeling of unity. This sort of collectivity is different from the 
“individual carnival, marked by a vivid sense of isolation” (RW 37). By this suggestion, 
Bakhtin affirms the transpositioning of the carnivalesque spirit to people’s lives, both in terms 
of thought and body. Only by participation and by genuinely experiencing the birth-life-death 
cycle, the official reason can be subverted and life turns into “a ‘festive’ madness” (RW 39). 
People of Rio – especially the favela dwellers – are portrayed as true participants in the 
carnivalesque reality of this city. Those who fail to understand the reality of Rio are beaten 
down by alienation and disillusionment. For example, Mara, one of Özgür’s acquaintances, is 
an anthropologist and a scholar and cannot stand “the superficiality” in this city, so she has to 
go back to her hometown. “She had been knocked out flat in a viciously real arena, much more 
real than that of any thesis or analysis or institution – the arena of the body” (CC 31).   
 
 27
 
The affirmative nature of carnivalesque collectivism and the importance of participation in 
universal human experience in Bakhtin’s theories take on a totally different twist in The City 
in Crimson Cloak. At first glance, the plot elements of The City in Crimson Cloak seem to 
resonate with a Bakhtinian true carnivalesque setting. For example, Özgür refers to her role as 
“A Traveler in the Streets of Rio” in a number of chapters. She travels the streets, she says, for 
the sheer experience of the city as if she is “tracking an extremely cunning, predatory bird” 
(30). However, the novel can never shake Özgür’s foreign gaze off its plot. As binary 
oppositions prevail, “the free and familiar contact” with the city and folk culture is never 
attained. Özgür is an observer and Rio a mad person. Özgür represents European reason and 
Rio is always recklessly exotic. Özgür is a spectator in agony and pleasure while Rio remains 
a fool. She is oblivious to other people’s experiences and secluded from the outer world. She 
fails to understand the life around her (although she claims to have taken on an understanding 
position – which is particularly “enhanced” by her role as a writer), or be a true participant 
within the carnivalesque setting, because she falls prey to abjection (sometimes accompanied 
by a powerful fascination) – her subjective horror in the face of corporeal reality and the 
following process by which she separates herself from “the intolerable”. Rio is an exotic, and 
often a cold-blooded, monster. Özgür is a character set against a grotesque background and 
every detail about Rio works to highlight Özgür’s “normalcy.” Therefore, the relationship 
between Özgür and Rio remains mutually exclusive. If the parade of grotesque bodies and 
monstrosities occupy a large place in the novel, then one expects them “to be harnessed as a 
powerful force to resist the tools of normalization,” as Edwards and Graulund write (10). “For 
a grotesque figure can disrupt notions of normality in favour of conceptualizing and 
recognizing broader varieties of being and expression as dignified and respected” (Edwards 
and Graulund 10). Far from conceptualizing a variety of normality, the novel fails to deliver 
the cathartic and liberating effect of a true carnivalesque work. 
 
The City in Crimson Cloak displays a broad array of grotesque images and motifs which, at 
first glance, can be identified either with carnivalesque or postmodernism (or both). But one is 
tempted to ask if this novel is too grotesque to assault any dominant ideology, and if it 
dangerously flirts with abjection and conformity to exoticism. The grotesque bodies and the 
carnival of Rio in this novel serve a different purpose from Bakhtin’s festive redemption. The 
dual image of Rio with its magnificence as a haven and its antithetical backstreets are merely 
“a pair of masks, nothing more” (CC 11). This is because Özgür’s overall horror and recoil 
throughout the novel write off Bakhtin’s grotesquerie. Bakhtin says that as long as the fear of 
death is overpowered by carnivalesque laughter and “[a]ll that was terrifying becomes 
grotesque”, and then “[t]here can be nothing terrifying on earth…” (RW 91). Against this 
remark, one constantly sees Özgür’s bitter realization of “the dizzying anarchism of the body,” 
“the stench of death’s breath,” and “monstrosity” in Rio.   
  
As it is obvious from three quotations from the novel above, Özgür’s abjection is manifested 
through three interrelated subjects in the narrative (both in Erdoğan’s and Özgür’s): grotesque 
body, monstrosity, and death. These three phenomena are fundamentally ambivalent in 
Bakhtin’s critical universe. Material grotesque body is the epitome of degradation/regeneration 
cycle. Monsters of carnivals in folk culture are both the representation of fear and the gay 
agents of defeating that fear. Death is the ultimate ambivalence for Bakhtin as it is always the 
threshold to renascence. As long as the affirmative character of the body, gay monsters, and 
death are maintained, there can be a fundamental transformation of thought and imagination. 
On the other hand, if one feels threatened by the manifestations of body, monsters, and death, 
she falls to the realm of unmeaning. An immediate afterthought of retreat and cleansing appears 
in order to maintain “a fragile net stretched out over an abyss of incompatibilities, rejections, 
 28
 
and abjections” (Powers 22). This causes the immediate process of othering for the sake of The 
subject’s sanity and security. Now let us examine three examples of grotesqueries from the 
novel, each one bursting with the conflict between grotesque ambivalence and abjection. In 
each example, the grotesque body, monstrosity, and death are interwoven and they each become 
the external manifestations of Özgür’s internal abjection.   
 In the first example, Özgür describes a strange woman who, in the narrator’s eyes, turns 
into a microcosm of the entire city:   
 
It was two years ago. At a holiday celebration in the ghettos I saw a woman, wrapped in rags, 
her legs and backside completely exposed. (It took me several minutes to figure out which sex 
she was). She looked like someone who had been rescued too late from a concentration camp 
and was destined to perish within a matter of days. She could have been in her twenties, or just 
as well in her seventies. She was missing most of her teeth, and her elbows jutted out through 
her skin. She was doing the samba. Ecstatic with pleasure, roaring with laughter… Her face 
alight with that innocent, pure joy seen only on the faces of children… And so it is then, when 
you look into the hazy, foggy, bottomless eyes of a woman on the verge of death and you 
confront happiness, true happiness, that you will have plunged into the labyrinths of Rio. 
Henceforth, in return for what you see, you will pay in kind with your life. Just as I did. (12) 
 
In her novel, Aslı Erdoğan mostly describes Rio de Janeiro through the lens of the grotesque 
body which constitutes the ultimate truth of the city. In Erdoğan’s Rio, human bodies exist to 
remind us of our own mortality, the perishability of flesh, the infinite life-death-birth cycle. 
This grotesque image of a dancing woman with no distinctive sexual signifiers or age is a 
classic representation of danse macabre – the universal dance of death. She is the exact 
opposite of the popular and exotic image of a Brazilian woman with tanned skin, enjoying the 
tropics in her bikini. In her body, death and joy of life merge into one. She is a part of the life 
around her, as she still keeps pace with the music. She is a grotesque element in the sense that 
she disrupts the dividing line between life and death which are simultaneously manifested in 
her skeletal body and enlightened face. She is the embodiment of grotesque ambivalence. 
However, the dancing woman turns into an abject element due to Özgür’s underlying attitude 
and description. Her immediate urge is to detect the sex of the dancing figure, but the figure 
hinders this signification process. She becomes a hybrid monster. Özgür’s first failure is 
followed by the realization that the body of the woman is about to perish. Equally surprising is 
the fact that the dancing woman does not exhibit misery or solemnity in the face of death. Her 
danse macabre challenges Özgür’s persistent judgments about death. Her framework of 
reference is challenged and her inner coherence is disrupted because she confronts happiness 
on the verge of death. She feels as if she is being plunged into a labyrinth of unmeaning. Also, 
the woman’s naked body wrapped in rags, her missing teeth, and her jutting elbows highlight 
the contrast between her mummy-like monstrosity and incongruous happiness, which, in 
Özgür’s shaken world, becomes another abyss of incompatibilities – “hazy, foggy, bottomless” 
like the dancing woman’s eyes.   
 
In another scene in the novel, the protagonist suddenly finds herself caught in the crossfire and 
sees the grotesque image of a car thief. During the hot car pursuit, the thief hangs out the front 
window from his waist while firing at the police. His posture is so natural that it seems to Özgür 
as if he has become one with the car and the gun – half human, half machine. The social 
circumstances surrounding the thief have made him immune to the fear of death. He has 
realized long ago that he must embrace death in order to survive:  
 
 29
 
[Upon seeing the pursuit] Experienced Cariocas… immediately threw themselves to the 
ground; Özgür meanwhile leapt to her feet, cigarette in one hand and a guarana soda in the 
other, and with the curiosity of a child getting her first glimpse at a piranha, stared after the car 
robber … She expected his eyes to be huge, covering nearly all of his face and full of dread 
like those of a game animal. But his face expressed not even a hint of fear. In fact, his face 
expressed nothing. Like an arrow unleashed from the bow, the man concentrated intently upon 
one thing: Hitting the bull’s eye. The only things he had with which to stop the car of death 
trailing after him were a gun and steady fingers… The more intense it became, the more his 
fear of death must have been fading away; much like unhappiness does. (25)   
 
The car thief in this scene is a grotesque element because he indicates the disunity of human 
form and the reassembling of familiar elements in an unfamiliar fashion. This form of grotesque 
is meticulously described in Wolfgang Kayser’s The Grotesque in Art and Literature. In his 
formulation of grotesque, Kayser assesses grotesque as a modified appearance of reality which 
destabilizes the laws of symmetry, statistics, and proportion. In this process, human beings are 
no longer separated from non-human forms. His body fuses with the car like a prosthetic 
extension and he becomes capable of moving freely in and out, even in the middle of chaos. 
His life also fuses with death because the people of Rio have learnt to place life and death one 
after another along a continuum. Therefore, Özgür’s horror and fascination before a life form 
appearing in an unexpected and unfamiliar shape can only be compared to a child’s amazement 
after “her first glimpse at a piranha.” On the one hand, she is lured by the appeal of this 
demonstration just as a tourist is entertained by local people’s shows, but on the other hand, 
she tries to rationalize the fusion of life and death, human and non-human by concluding that 
the thief’s unhappiness must be so intense that death is preferable to life. Or worse, his 
unhappiness has made him resilient. The immediacy and spontaneity of violence bring out her 
abjection of death. She once again proves unfit for instances of chaos even if she knows 
CHAOS is the only word to describe Rio (CC 30). The carnivalesque chaos is redemptive: it 
leads to (self)-erasure and (self)-renewal. Özgür’s understanding of chaos is disturbing, 
alienating, yet necessary for her romanticized detachment and pathos. For this reason, she 
wants to transcend and simultaneously to experiment with chaos by watching and writing. This 
is the only way she preserves and maintains her identity in the face of grotesque, deathly 
monstrosities of Rio.       
 
In a third scene, Özgür sees a dying man who “had certainly drifted so far from life that there 
was no turning back” (CC 123). She documents her horror and despair in the face of death in 
her own City in Crimson Cloak: 
 
I ran into him at the entrance to a movie theater in Cinelandia… He – I’ll name him after I’ve 
described him – was lying in a puddle of mud several inches deep… He was about to die of 
hunger. His body had betrayed his soul, expelling the last bite he’d had to eat. With his last 
ounce of strength he tried to reach his vomit – so that he could eat it once again. Nobody paid 
any attention to him. A few stragglers scurried across the nearly empty square, rushing to make 
it in time for the game; after all they were used to the many and varied performances of death. 
Only I stood there, motionless, under a rainstorm, my face drained to bone-white. It was as if 
I’d turned to stone. I could neither cry nor yell; a tight fist, a silent scream caught in my throat. 
(124)     
 
This body is grotesque for he represents threefold in-betweenness. Firstly, the man has become 
a body in transformation. The body transitions from life to death and the imagery reminds us 
of the dissolution of his flesh under the rain and becoming one with the earth in that deep 
 30
 
puddle. Second, his vomit ceases to be a bodily waste and refuse; instead, it turns into a source 
of life, but, as if to highlight the in-betweenness, the scene freezes at a specific moment and we 
never come to see his resurrection. The man’s last bite comes out in the form of vomit only to 
be taken in once again. This also disrupts the boundaries between the inside and outside of the 
body. Thirdly, the privacy of the body transforms into the communal body. The death scene 
becomes a dark parody of a deathbed scene played out on a street for everybody to witness. 
Also, an example of personal rituals of bodily discharge (urination, vomiting etc.) – which are 
hidden from public for being unclean and uncivilized – becomes a spectacle for Özgür and 
other people. His threefold transition from life to death, emitter to receiver, and private to public 
becomes a metaphor of the materiality, universality, perishability, and ambivalence of the 
human body. From Özgür’s (and O’s) point of view, this is an abject image. The novel fails to 
provide a social commentary because it does not zoom out to a larger picture of power relations 
and ideologies which eventually drag people dying in the streets. Her horror and the obvious 
Me vs. Them differentiation in this quotation only undermines the universality of death and 
misery. Özgür’s sharp difference from the people of Rio is suggested by the opposition of 
sensitive vs. resilient and Özgür relocates herself within a more “humane” worldview by stating 
“Nobody paid any attention to him … Only I stood there…” This comment hardly indicates 
Özgür’s naiveté or her sympathy for the victims of socioeconomic conditions; it rather shows 
her hasty judgment about a city with unrivaled cruelty and a people with thick skin.  
 
The ideological and representational devaluation of carnivalesque in The City in Crimson 
Cloak is by no means limited to these three examples. They were chosen for being the loci 
where the affirmative nature of carnivalesque was eroded and the concepts of the abject and 
the monstrous-other are foregrounded. The social function of the carnival in The City in 
Crimson Cloak is overshadowed by Özgür’s reactions and the subversive function of narration 
is frustrated by the protagonist’s sentimental judgments and anxieties. It is true that grotesque 
bodies, violence, and excess constitute the reality of Rio in the novel and this reality might not 
be normative for an average reader. It might be hard to digest. However, after two years in Rio, 
Özgür still struggles to blend into this reality and her account is filled with horror which 
becomes a fundamental, non-permeable separator between her “Old World” principles and 
“New World” indulgences of Rio.   
  
Let us examine this kind of abjective reaction to the grotesque occurrences in a more detailed 
way. In Powers of Horror, Julia Kristeva writes that the abject as an entity provokes in us “a 
twisted braid of affects'' such as disgust, revulsion, hate, horror, and loathing; this entity is 
neither subject nor object and it looms as a threat beyond our scope of the possible and the 
tolerable (1). In a sense, internal abjection prescribes what is appropriate and what is not. It 
signifies the relation of the ego with the world. Although it is not the direct opposite7 of the 
grotesque, the abject in a literary work is usually the exaggeration of the negative and the 
improper. Bakhtin criticizes such representation and interpretation of grotesque images because 
it destroys “the possibility of combining in one image both the positive and negative poles” 
(RW 308). It is not that the subversive potential of the abject is being denied in this analysis; in 
fact, the focus is the way of representing the abject in which “the subversive possibilities of 
manipulating a literary tradition find their most concentrated expression” (Bernstein 289). In 
Powers of Horror, Kristeva praises Louis-Ferdinand Celine’s treatment of the abject for 
 
7 Some critics, however, point out a transition. For example, according to M. Keith Booker and Michael Andre 
Bernstein, the utopian and naïve nature of Bakhtin’s carnivalesque grotesque makes it fated to evolve into the 
abject. In “Bakhtin and Kristeva” Sue Vice signals the inevitable “movement from the innocence of the 
grotesque to the dangerous appeal of the abject” (171). 
 31
 
challenging “a single signified” and for assuming “a double stance between disgust and 
laughter, apocalypse and carnival” (138). This is what the abject can do in literature: to push 
margins to a point where social codes and propriety dissolve. This being the case, had The City 
in Crimson Cloak treated the abject undercurrents of grotesque images with a more 
multidimensional attitude instead of a prescriptive alienation, the boundaries between the 
protagonist’s perception and the reality of Rio could have been drawn quite differently.  
 
The grotesque corporeality of Rio disturbs Özgür’s scope of the possible and the tolerable 
because it reminds her of her own unclean, fragile, decaying body. She constructs her own 
identity by clinging to her internal abjection and othering Rio. She is also fascinated by the 
abject because, as Kristeva states, we contemplate ourselves in it. However, by means of 
abjection, we repel the Other in order to maintain the ego. In the first example, Özgür watches 
the skeletal, ageless, sexless being with wonder and fascination. Throughout her description, 
the reader feels Özgür’s carefully maintained distance. Against this dancing figure which “was 
destined to perish within a matter of days,” Özgür’s juxtaposed body and translucent skin moan 
“bitterly beneath Rio’s cruel sun” (24). This dance of death is an enigma for Özgür because 
throughout the novel, she can never attain such an ecstatic joy as her biggest fear is to turn into 
one of Rio’s people, or worse, “the black-skinned, black-eyed, black- haired mulatto women” 
of Rio that “do the samba with death” all through their lives (129). She obviously wants to 
remain a “gringa” because this word is constantly used – in both narratives of The City in 
Crimson Cloak – to signify the protagonist’s identity. The word becomes a thin veil that 
separates the realm of the flagrant naked bodies, of “half-grown girls who get raped on every 
God given day, broken-winged pregnant women … half-wits wrapped in rags who like skunks 
mark their territories with odorous clouds” from Özgür’s world (106). The material body with 
its diverse manifestations in the colors of “cinnamon, the earth, bronze, milk, coffee, honey, 
chocolate” becomes what Sue Vice calls in the article “Bakhtin and Kristeva” the “degenerated 
carnival” (166). From Özgür’s perspective, “the dizzying anarchism of the body” only elicits 
confusion and horror.  
 
Özgür’s confusion in the face of the horrific can also be seen in the opening chapter titled 
“Fireworks Day.” She is portrayed as a character on the verge of mental breakdown and in 
constant terror, trembling and sweating due to her inability to cope with her life in Rio. After a 
series of gunshots, she exclaims “Enough! Enough! I can’t take it anymore! My God, put an 
end to this torture, now! Can’t you see that I’ve no strength left?” (14). Her time in Rio is a 
torture. She usually has difficulty in finding the right words for describing the city. “‘How to 
explain Rio de Janeiro?’ she mumbled to herself” (30). “Rio de Janeiro. Always naked, yet 
always masked” (46). “Here I am in this semi-savage land, all alone, an unfamiliar feeling of 
being both free and besieged brewing within me. (Lonely, alone, derelict, vagrant, orphaned… 
I can list any number of adjectives, but I cannot build a bridge between words and reality)” 
(19). “Yet now, as I look at the letters I have lined up on the white piece of paper before me, I 
cannot see that man. I still lack the language to express him. I am not strong enough, vicious 
enough, not merciful enough” (125). She is impotent and inarticulate to express the reality of 
Rio de Janeiro. Her sense of freedom is “unfamiliar,” the city is always “masked,” hence 
incomprehensible, and she lacks the necessary qualities for survival (which ironically places 
her in a superior position to the people of Rio because she does writhe in the grip of her 
conscience.) Her obsession with the moral analyses when she assumes her role as a writer 
stands in stark contrast to the role of a writer described in Kristeva’s Powers of Horror. 
According to Kristeva, the articulation of the abject requires the intent perversion of language, 
degradation for the sake of novelty:  
 
 32
 
The writer fascinated by the abject, imagines its logic, projects himself into it, introjects it, and 
as a consequence, perverts language – style and content. But on the other hand, as the sense of 
abjection is both the abject’s judge and accomplice, this is also true of the literature that 
confronts it. One might thus say that with such a literature there takes place a crossing over of 
the dichotomous categories of Pure and Impure, Prohibition and Sin, Morality and Immorality. 
(16)     
 
Özgür’s failure to cross over these categories is related to the construction of the monstrous in 
the novel. The monstrosity of the city, the excessive violence, and the grotesque figures which 
evoke death and misery disintegrate Özgür’s social framework governing her subjectivity. And 
the author believes that the reader will experience the same disintegration as they read the 
novel: “This will be a journey within arrow range of a creature that makes its monstrosity felt 
at each and every moment; the stench of death’s breath constantly in your face; eyes laden with 
darkness; perversity always just a step behind…” (CC 11). John Block Friedman analyzes the 
concept of monstrosity and how it was attributed to a whole nation or race by means of 
representation particularly during the Middle Ages. He writes in the introduction that “the 
unusual races of men” described mostly in medieval European writings were in fact “alien yet 
real cultures;” therefore, the adjectives that were used to describe these cultures were 
problematic because “many of these peoples were not monstrous at all. They simply differed 
in physical appearance and social practices from the person describing them” (1). Although 
monstrous races were primarily defined in antiquity and the Middle Ages with respect to 
appearance, there were other distinctions. One of them was geography. Another criterion was 
cultural differences such as “diet, speech, clothes, weapons, customs, and social organization” 
(Friedman 26). These distinctions highlighted the Eurocentric norms by which all other nations 
were evaluated. The set of these norms was what Friedman called “a measure of man.” The 
monstrous races were marked by the strangeness of their languages, the eccentric food, nudity, 
absence of a sense of aesthetics, and the inability to establish beautiful cities and social 
communities. These distinctions set the alien peoples apart from their observers and the traits 
of non-European peoples were usually held in low esteem by European writers and readers. In 
these writings the dichotomy was the monstrous savagery against European civilization.         
 
   In The City in Crimson Cloak, the big, intimidating, incomprehensible monster is Rio de 
Janeiro. It is a typical hybrid monster. Its dimensions are excessive. It evokes both fascination 
and repulsion: 
This city offered way too many spectacles, way too many contradictions, way too many 
tragedies. [Özgür] was constantly running into freaks, torture wounds, corpses, and sex… The 
magnificent Ipanema beach lined with ‘the world’s most expensive’ apartments, and right 
behind it, the three hundred thousand person Rocinha, the world’s largest favela, resembling 
the hunched back of a crippled person trying to right himself… (30) 
 
It is a monster which dwelt in “a universe defiled and debased to the core” (CC 13). Özgür’s 
relationship with Rio resembles the one between an explorer and an exotic creature: “When the 
life-defying girl chose ‘the world’s most dangerous’ city, her sole intention had been to glance 
into the depths of humankind. To look from a safe distance…” (13). Or it is a confrontation 
between a mythic hero and the ancient inferno: “Instead, her hair went up in flames in this hell 
that she faced of her own volition. Rio de Janeiro sicced its stupefying anarchy upon her, its 
days of white heat, its nights full of promises, threats, caresses, its murders…” (13). The 
dramatic undertones in these descriptions foreshadow the ending to Özgür’s story and portray 
the protagonist as a figure surrounded by menace. It has already been  mentioned that The City 
in Crimson Cloak is solely based on Özgür’s personal impressions of Rio and it can be regarded 
 33
 
as travel writing. When John Friedman writes of The Romance of Alexander (a collection of 
legends which recounts the mythical journeys of the Macedonian conqueror), he makes an 
important political observation. He states that “[t]he approach of travel literature to the exotic 
races is thus different from that of other works in that it takes as its subject not the races 
themselves, but their relationship to people of the West. Such relationships are, not surprisingly, 
antagonistic…” (144). The word “West” in this observation is not necessarily a geographical 
marker, but more of an ideological stance. In the novel the Western ideology is signified by the 
expression “the Old World” with which Özgür identifies herself. The Old World is both her 
“millstones” and also “part and parcel, perhaps the very buttress” of her identity (CC 20). Her 
separation from the Old World triggers her confusion and alienation. This separation is 
symbolized by a phone conversation during which Özgür’s mother symbolically cuts the cord 
by means of her indifference and incomprehension: “A prickly silence of porcupine 
proportions. The mother and daughter became aware of the Atlantic Ocean separating them. 
That they spoke without saying anything, so as not to say anything… ‘What are you doing in 
that awful city anyway?’” (CC 35). Özgür’s commentary on her experience in Rio may be 
touching upon her internal conflicts and journeys, her will to survive, and her various emotions, 
but it inevitably seems that The City in Crimson Cloak is a novel about Rio as a death-breathing 
exotic monster.  
 
In the following paragraph, the binary opposition of Rio as a New World monster and Istanbul 
as an Old World treasure (and as the buttress of Özgür’s identity) is clearly depicted:  
Next to the Blue Mansion … was Özgür’s “Point Istanbul.” At every stop in the course of her 
migrant life,… at every harbor in which she had ever taken refuge, she had either found or 
created a Point Istanbul for herself. Places which, given the right perspective, the right light, 
and undoubtedly the right mood, resembled Istanbul… With its  beaches separated by soaring 
cliffs, its sinuous coves that intertwine like the streams of Amazon, its savage rocks ripping 
into the horizon, and its jungle like a boundless fishing net cast over the city, Rio was certainly 
nothing like Istanbul. It had a seductive beauty, one that was fond of extremes, contradictions, 
and imprudence; it pounced upon her, cruelly, inebriated her, took her firmly in its jaws. It had 
an eerie charm about it, like an African mask, while the city of her birth and childhood was like 
an antique silver bracelet, inlaid with amethysts, subdued, elegant, proud, tight-lipped, 
languid… (54) 
 
This kind of monster (which I will call “romantic monster” after Bakhtin’s formulation 
“Romantic grotesque”) is the opposite of carnival “gay” monsters described by Bakhtin. The 
former is the source of horror; the latter is the agent of victory over fear. In his article 
“Unachievable Monologism and the Production of the Monster” Jonathan Hall describes the 
process of creating the inner monsters. Building upon the arguments of Peter Stallybrass and 
Allon White in Politics and Poetics of Transgression, Hall maintains that the popular carnival 
practices and grotesque bodily representations were distorted and unsuccessfully internalized 
by the privatized bourgeois subject throughout the course of modern history. They became 
manifest as disturbing symptoms of intense sublimations. The popular spectacles of carnivals 
of the middle ages return as the distorted, displaced, misrecognized repressions and as the crises 
of “an superintending ego” (106). Bakhtin’s formulation of the carnivalesque shows that the 
gay monsters were produced as a result of a collective endeavor to chase away the cosmic 
terror. A gay monster therefore is not monstrous; rather it is ambivalent as “the symbol of 
obsolete power and of fear that has been defeated” (RW 391). The inner romantic monsters, on 
the other hand, arise as a result of the subject’s negation and demonization of forbidden desires 
and guilt (Hall 107). Our subjective monsters, as the site of conflicting desires, are born out of 
a differentiation between repugnance and fascination (Stallybrass and White 4).    
 34
 
 
This subjective conflict is symbolized by the tabloid newspaper O Globo in the novel. Özgür 
compares the massive issues of the newspaper (“including the Sunday inserts, weighed in at 
over one hundred pages”) with its celebrity news, gossip, dispassionate articles, frivolous op-
eds, prostitution ads, and astrology to “an engraving of Rio in loud colors and distorted 
perspective, wreaking utter chaos” (26). The newspaper reserves at least two pages for 
“Violence” stories which are compressed into a few short sentences and reduced to mere 
numbers. The stories of journalists with their tongues cut out and ears cut off, murdered 
housewives, or castrated street children are printed like classified ads as if to say nothing in 
Rio is a big deal: 
 
Maria de Penha (41): Caught in the midst of an armed conflict on the bus; while the rest of the 
passengers threw themselves to the floor, she was squished to death in the turnstile.  
Another Maria (13): She skipped school and went to the beach, where she was shot in the head 
by a stray bullet; the autopsy revealed that the girl was pregnant. Both her killer and the father 
of her baby remain unknown. (26) 
 
This, the novel shows, is the reality of Rio. The hot pursuits, murders, and dancing corpses 
crowd the streets. People are so used to crime, violence, and poverty that the protagonist can 
easily describe the city as “indulgent” (22). Nevertheless, Özgür seems to display a mixture of 
fascination and abjection towards a reality which is totally different from her own version. She 
scours these news items, takes notes “with a statistician’s meticulous passion for bare facts” as 
these chilling stories “moved her profoundly” (26). Her mind tries to rationalize violence by 
turning it into statistics, while simultaneously her unconscious guilty pleasures are tickled. 
Calling the people of Rio “indulgent” is an imperative to reject their ways of life and the 
differentiation process is activated; but still her unconscious associates blood with eroticism. 
She moves back and forth between her guilty pleasures and her rejection of the fear of death. 
   
And she also sensed that, deep inside, she derived a kind of perverted highly criminal pleasure 
from it all. In Rio she had tasted the erotic in human blood. What’s more, there was some kind 
of relief in knowing the dreadful dimensions of the pit of quicksand into which she sank. Death, 
when reduced to numbers, ceased to be a personal tragedy. (26) 
  
  Having been educated in arts and literature and having acquired a European mindset, 
Özgür cannot help but revolt at the naked truth of human flesh. Calling Rio indulgent reveals 
her own intolerance, which becomes a sharp distinction between her role as a spectator and the 
people of Rio as monstrous actors. Therefore, the narration neither evokes the reader’s 
sympathy for the people of Rio nor does it negotiate Özgür’s constant abjection and promote a 
polyphonic carnivalesque perspective.   
 
 From the polyphonic carnivalesque perspective, life is always ambivalent and death is 
associated with life. Criticizing Wolfgang Kayser’s theory of grotesque, Bakhtin touches upon 
Kayser’s notion of death within grotesque theory. Kayser says that the grotesque “instills fear 
of life rather than fear of death” (185). According to Bakhtin, this formulation presents an 
opposition between life and death. An ambivalent orientation towards life – with all its facts, 
tragedies, mortalities – towards creation and destruction, towards material body and soul is the 
basis of Bakhtin’s grotesque realism. The complete and deathless body that negates a mortal 
life is completely contrary to grotesque realism (RW 50). Bakhtin explains that this complete 
and deathless body is an element of classicism that penetrated the scientific thinking and 
 35
 
rationalism of the Enlightenment8 (RW 37). Frankfurt School philosophers Theodor Adorno 
and Max Horkheimer underline this enmity by describing the evolution of enlightenment and 
scientific culture. In Dialectic of Enlightenment, Adorno and Max protest Kant’s positivist 
approach to enlightenment and analyze its failure. In an introductory chapter titled “The 
Concept of Enlightenment,” they state that enlightenment can be defined as the advancement 
of thought, which has essentially aimed at liberating human beings from fear and the authority 
of myths. Paradoxically, enlightenment’s program of overthrowing fantasy and 
“disenchantment of the world” pushed the earth to calamity (1). It exterminated all kinds of 
animisms as the scientific culture created its own myths, which spring from human fear, such 
as “the doubling of nature into appearance and essence, effect and force” (10). Therefore, 
enlightenment reverted to mythology, which was resurrected in the form of oppositions: 
meaning versus formulas, probability versus causality, ideas versus things. Substance and 
quality, activity and suffering, being and existence were thought to be the concepts which stood 
in the way of scientific thinking and they were discarded as “idola theatri of the old 
metaphysics” (3). The terror of incomprehensible death was assuaged by comprehensible life. 
Magic as a form of pre-enlightenment knowledge was replaced by exclusive positivism, 
empiricism, and classifications. Enlightenment, thus, fundamentally rejects the compatibility 
of magic and reason, poetry and factuality, gods and humans. There must be no gray spots, 
nothing can remain unknown. Enlightenment is the biggest crusade against the biggest source 
of fear – the unknown.  
 
 The collective festive madness and the ambivalence of carnival defy the exclusive 
emphasis on systematization and rationalization. The chaos of carnival, therefore, is beyond 
systems, beyond classifications. Its chaotic manifestation in The City of Crimson Cloak is, as 
O puts it, “a mask without a face, a huge subconscious covered in gold dust” (98). It is 
collective and anonymous. It is unpredictable. It presents mesalliances. For an observer, an 
outsider, “even a worldy-wise migrant like Özgür,” carnival is disturbing because the chaos of 
carnival is associated with death and it is incomprehensible (109). A character like Özgür would 
barely “manage to make it through another Rio carnival without being violated, trampled, 
mugged, stabbed, or raped” (96). For Özgür, death is not ambivalent. It is a threat lurking 
behind the carnival masks. She constantly tries to rationalize the ways of Rio by writing. She 
considers her book The City in Crimson Cloak “her personal victory against death”  (160). Her 
death scene at the end of the novel weaves together the concepts of contempt, confusion, fear, 
and incomprehension. Throughout the novel, both Özgür and O express that they try to capture 
the truth of Rio and be a part of the city. They try to pound the pavements, blend in, and 
communicate with impossible Portuguese enunciation. However, it can be hard for the reader 
to find Özgür’s and O’s efforts sincere, since almost every sentence that describes a scene from 
the daily life of Rio is marked by wry commentary, sarcasm, flashy adjectives, comparisons, 
and oppositions. Özgür and O never lower their guard against Rio. Such an attitude is also 
present in the final chapter where Özgür is mugged and killed.  
 
 Özgür is first confronted by a mulatto adolescent whose body is muscular, voluptuous, 
and stocky. Özgür's first reaction is to compare her own skinny body and height to those of the 
mulatto. She carefully examines the girl with the appetite of an explorer before an exotic 
creature. When the girl demands “Dollars, gringa, dollars!” Özgür flinches violently. She takes 
the word gringa as an insult because it highlights her status as an outsider, an alien. Her anger 
 
8 In Rabelais and His World, Bakhtin actually pits the “narrow and artificial optimism” of Enlighteners against 
Romantic grotesque which, for Bakhtin, also has its own deficiencies and radically differs from the medieval 
grotesque.    
 36
 
is blended with disdain and she hastily re-defines her own identity for a more elevated self-
positioning:  
 
The bird-brained adolescent with the bovine boobs thought she was a tourist, and couldn’t tell 
that she lived in a state of semi-starvation. Did she not see her tattered purse and jeans shredded 
at the knees? How could she possibly not see that Özgür was an advocate of the street people, 
that she was a champion of the victims, the downtrodden, the consummate losers! She was not 
a tourist, but a forsaken vagabond. (164-5)    
 
The victims, the downtrodden, the losers of Rio are the muted actors in the grim picture painted 
by Özgür, who chases the truth of Rio, but naively thinks a tattered purse and shredded jeans 
would suffice. The last thing she grabs before she dies is her novel, which is more of a 
monologue rather than a dialogue with the city. The moment she understands that she will be 
shot, she resorts to her mother tongue, leaves the language of the savages, and acknowledges 
that she can never explain herself to this city. “‘Forget it,’ she said to herself in Turkish. 
‘FORGET IT. IT’S NOT WORTH IT.’” (CC 166).  The reader might take the entire narrative 
as a parody or critique of the hubris of the Western mind; however, the very last paragraph 
where Özgür’s dead body is described in detail indicates the opposite. When the police find 
Özgür’s body, she is still clinging to her bag, her eyes wide open. This image suggests that she 
uncomprehendingly clings to her deep-seated values. Her inability to interpret the life-death 
cycle in Rio costs Özgür her life. The narrator describes her face like this:  
 
[S]he was trying to explain what it was like to die on a street full of junk cars, broken glass, 
and oil stains. Stunned to be the heroine of a tragedy for the first and last time, to be confronting 
an indomitable reality one-on-one… Her eyes gaping in a quest of splendid adjectives, crucial 
images, and the words closest to reality itself. They were trying to convey that single moment, 
that moment when life shrinks eternally into a spaceless point, and thus expands eternally. 
Actually, she had died exactly as she had wanted. (168)  
  
Even the simplest and ultimate equalizer, death, cannot eradicate Özgür’s abjective distance. 
She gropes at splendid adjectives instead of embracing the naked reality. She transforms into a 
tragic heroine. Rio and its people only put a spotlight on Özgür’s story. As Özgür dies, children 
run around, favelas announce the cocaine sale, people drink beer, tourists return to their hotels, 
women put on their make-up, youngsters get dressed for the concerts and shows – it is as if the 
actors at backstage get ready for Özgür’s final, grand performance. This premise shows the 
main argument of this analysis of the novel: it always remains a tragedy, a one-person show, 
not Bakhtin’s carnivalesque festivity without spotlights.     
 
Therefore, Özgür’s Rio is never ambivalent. She claims that “[t]he Rio [she is] going to tell 
you about … is a labyrinth established in more than two dimensions, or to be more exact, a 
series of labyrinths interconnecting on the planes of time and space” (11). This statement is 
quite ambitious and ironic for a narrator whose very next sentence describes this “series of 
labyrinths” as full of “dead-ends, blind spots … vague predictions” (11). You can take this 
generic statement about Brazil as an example: “I remind [readers] that all adventures in Brazil 
have a bloody ending, that since the 16th century these savage lands have gotten the better of 
every voyager, harum scarum, gold hunter, and daringly mad-hearted soul to set foot upon 
them” (CC 10, emphasis added). Sadly, a narrative full of dead-ends and vague predictions, 
deaf and blind to the reality of an entire city, uncomfortable with monstrosity, corporeality, 
madness, and death can never be established in more than two dimensions.  
 
 37
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
WORKS CITED 
Adorno, Theodor and Max Horkheimer. "The Concept of Enlightenment." Dialectic of  
Enlightenment: Philosophical Fragments. Translated by Edmund Jephcott,  Stanford 
University Press, 2002, pp. 1-34. 
 
Bakhtin, Mikhail M. Problems of Dostoevsky’s Poetics. Translated by Caryl Emerson, 
 University of  Minnesota Press, 1984.   
 38
 
---. Rabelais and His World. Translated by Hélene Iswolsky, Indiana University Press,  
1984.  
Bernstein, Michael André. “When the Carnival Turns Bitter: Preliminary Reflections  upon  
the Abject Hero.” Critical Inquiry, vol. 10, no. 2, 1983, pp. 283–305.  JSTOR, 
https://www.jstor.org/stable/1343351. 
Booker, M. Keith. Techniques Of Subversion in Modern Literature : Transgression, 
 Abjection, and the Carnivalesque.  University of Florida Press, 1991.  
Edwards, Justin D., and Rune Graulund. Grotesque. Routledge, 2013.  
Erdogan, Asli. The City in Crimson Cloak. Translated by Amy Spangler, Soft Skull  
 Press, 2007.  
Friedman, John B. The Monstrous Races in Medieval Art and Thought. Harvard  
 University Press, 1981. 
Hall, Stuart. “Unachievable Monologism and the Production of the Monster.” Bakhtin: 
 Carnival and Other Subjects, edited by David Shepherd, 1993, pp. 99-111. 
 https://doi.org/10.1163/9789004455054_013 
 
Housman, Alfred Edward. “Terence, This Is Stupid Stuff.” A Shropshire Lad. New York: 
 Peter Pauper Press, 1942. 
  
Kayser, Wolfgang Johannes. The Grotesque in Art and Literature. Translated by Ulrich   
Weisstein, Indiana University Press, 1963.  
Kristeva, Julia. Powers of Horror: An Essay on Abjection. Translated by Leon S.  
 Roudiez, Columbia University Press, 1982. 
Stallybrass, Peter and Allon White. The Politics and Poetics of Transgression. Cornell   
University Press, 1986. 
Vice, Sue. “Bakhtin and Kristeva: Grotesque Body, Abject Self.” Face to Face: Bakhtin  in  
Russia and the West, edited by C. Adlam and V. Makhlin, Sheffield  
Academic Press, pp. 160-174. 
 39
 
 
Wilson-Goldie, Kaelen. "'The City in Crimson Cloak,' a novel in purple prose." The Free
  Library, 2008 Al Bawaba (Middle East) Ltd. 19 Jul. 2023. 
 https://www.thefreelibrary.com/%27The+City+in+Crimson+Cloak%2c%27+a+n
 ovel+in+purple+prose.-a0217258257 
 
 40
 
CRUSOE’S LOST DAUGHTER: WOMAN’S SEARCH FOR IDENTITY AND FREEDOM IN 
NOVEL READING 
 
Seval ARSLAN9 
 
ABSTRACT 
Jane Gardam’s 1985 novel Crusoe’s Daughter is an autobiographical bildungsroman about 
Polly Flint’s physical and spiritual growth as a woman who wants to claim her independent 
identity. Polly becomes addicted to reading Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe, and she compares 
her life in the Yellow House to Crusoe’s life on the island after the shipwreck, each as isolated 
as the other. Polly, a rebellious soul from a very early age, is in constant struggle with the social 
norms and religious dogmas. She does not want to conform to the socially assigned roles of 
women and longs for the freedom of the sea, just like her father and Crusoe. Robinson Crusoe 
accompanies her in her isolated life and becomes her role model although she can never leave 
the Yellow House for a real adventure at sea. This paper discusses different critical approaches 
to women’s reading of novels and their tendency to identify with fictional characters, arguing 
that Polly Flint’s reading process paves the way for her search for identity and freedom as a 
woman confined to the Yellow House and surrounded by social and religious constraints. 
Eventually, Polly, the lost daughter of Robinson Crusoe, manages to claim her independent 
self. 
 
Key Words: Women readers, novel reading, writing, identity, freedom 
 
INTRODUCTION AND THEORETICAL FRAMEWORK  
 Crusoe’s Daughter, an autobiographical bildungsroman by Jane Gardam, is the story of 
Polly Flint taken to the Yellow House by the marsh to live with her two aunts at the age of six 
and stays there until the end of her life at eighty-seven. Like Robinson Crusoe, who is doomed 
to live for a long time on an island isolated from civilized human life, Polly maintains an 
isolated life in the Yellow House. While she fends for herself, she begins her search for identity 
and freedom in novel reading, and Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe becomes her idol figure. 
She does not get a proper education for financial reasons; however, she knows that if she were 
a boy, the money would be found. Thus, she immerses herself in reading the novels she borrows 
from her grandfather’s library. Reading these novels, she tries to shape her life according to her 
 
9 Assist. Prof. Dr. İstanbul Beykent University, Faculty of Arts and Sciences, Department of English 
Language and Literature, İstanbul / Turkey, sevalarslan@beykent.edu.tr. 
 
 41
 
imagination and wishes rather than the dogmas of religion and the norms of society. Despite 
the attempts of her faithful aunts, she refuses to be confirmed as an Anglican because she 
prefers the pleasures of reading to the sufferings of the Church. This paper discusses how Polly 
Flint’s reading process paves the way for her search for identity and freedom as a woman 
confined to the Yellow House and surrounded by social and religious constraints. 
 With the rise of the novel in the eighteenth century, the novel, considered an irrational 
genre, was associated with women. Reading novels was dangerous, especially for women who 
could be easily moved by them and (over)identify themselves with fictional characters. 
Reading a novel was a feminine activity, while men were assumed to read more rational and 
thus more serious texts. Focusing on the association between women and fiction, Gary Kelly 
refers to the opinions of old critics such as Thomas Christie and Robert Southey. Christie wrote 
that women were the main readers of novels due to their lack of proper education, hindering 
them from “solid learning” which was mostly available to men, while Southey believed that 
novels were produced for women and soldier-officers; however, while these novels could not 
do any harm to soldier-officers, they could do great harm to women. Southey claimed that 
novel reading is like “dram-drinking, is addictive and destroys a taste for superior stuff” (Kelly, 
1990: 221). Southey thought that novels could do great harm to women, but not to soldier-
officers, because women were not intellectually strong enough to resist fictional temptation. 
From this point of view, women were not suited to what Southey considered superior stuff 
because of their more emotional and less rational qualities. Men, being more rational and 
intellectual, had the superior taste for serious reading. 
Furthermore, Karin Littau points out how novel reading was associated with woman as the 
second sex and states that: 
This gendering of the genre, together with the fact that novels, because closely linked to the 
private, domestic sphere, were an ideal medium for the budding female writer, meant that this 
new form of writing was doubly suspect: a second-rate literature, aimed at mindless escapism, 
often produced by and for the second sex, apparently incapable of serious rational thought. In 
addition, the widespread assumption that ‘reason is in man, feeling in woman’ fed the fear that 
woman’s supposed emotionalism would lead her to overreact to what she reads. (Littau, 2006: 
69) 
While the irrational woman was secondary to the rational man, the novel was secondary to 
serious writing; from this biased perspective, novel writing and reading aimed at “mindless 
escapism” and were not capable of “serious rational thought.” In fact, this escape enabled 
women, confined to the domestic sphere, to achieve what they could not achieve in their real 
lives. Novel reading was a means of escaping the monotony of daily routine, and although this 
was called a mindless escape, it was indeed a completely mindful escape for women who did 
not have many other opportunities. Women, defined as mindless and overemotional, were 
restricted to a passive life controlled by active men who were considered rational and 
intellectual. They were expected to remain silent about the life imposed on them, and that must 
have been the real reason why many critics claimed that novel reading was dangerous for the 
so-called second sex because the novels they read introduced a new and better life which was 
never available to these women. Thus, fearing that women would rebel against the dogmas of 
 42
 
the patriarchal order, men’s discourse classified novel reading as an inferior and dangerous 
pastime. Acquainted with different lifestyles and standards in the novels they read, women 
would no longer feel satisfied with what they had and react to their subordinate position. 
Reading paved the way for them to discover independent lives, and they lost themselves in 
fiction to escape the dependent life they pursued in society. Therefore, instead of blaming 
women for being overemotional and overreacting to fiction, it would be more reasonable to 
analyse their social status to understand why they sought freedom in their readings.  
Judith Howard and Carolyn Allen discuss the effects of gender on reading, and they conclude 
that although gender has an important influence on the reader, other social statuses and 
ideological positions affect reading and interpretation as well. However, since gender is a 
significant factor shaping social experience, it has direct and indirect effects on the reading 
process (Howard, Allen, 1990: 551). The effects of gender on reading are both direct and 
indirect because gender affects not only the social status of women but also their ideological 
status. Since men and women have different rights and positions in society, their reading styles 
and reactions to fiction are also different. Michael Charlton, Corinna Pette, and Christina 
Burbaum argue that women’s reading strategies differ from men’s reading strategies because 
women are “more likely to identify themselves with characters and situations in novels, and 
they utilize novels more actively for critical self-confrontation in life crises” (Charlton, Pette, 
Burbaum, 2004: 256). Clearly, the differences between men and women readers stem from the 
opportunities they have/do not have in their lives. If women tend to become more immersed in 
fiction and (over)identify with fictional characters, it is indeed a direct consequence of what 
they desire but cannot get in life.  
As for Polly Flint’s case in Crusoe’s Daughter, when a man reads about Crusoe’s adventures, 
he already knows that he is as independent as Crusoe to make his own choice; however, when 
a woman reads about these adventures, she realizes that she is imprisoned in a private world 
where she is not expected to seek freedom. Hence, Ruth Yeazell asserts that novel reading may 
cause more pain than pleasure for the woman who is already critical of the oppressive society. 
Because of her awareness, the critical woman reader is “torn between her potential delight in a 
novel and her newly awakened sense of the restrictive world which it mirrors” (Yeazell, 1974: 
29). However, on the other hand, novel reading can awaken the woman reader more to the 
reality she lives in, and her ultimate revolt against her status can bring her the freedom she 
seeks in the fictional world. Polly Flint’s novel reading, especially her reading of Robinson 
Crusoe, leads her to rebel to claim her identity freed from the restrictions of the social and 
religious order.  
 
POLLY FLINT’S SEARCH FOR IDENTITY AND FREEDOM IN NOVEL READING 
Polly Flint is a motherless girl who tries to resemble her father and is interested in his 
adventures at sea. Being motherless, even for six years because she would later have her aunts 
to teach her the qualities expected of a faithful girl, has a significant impact on Polly’s 
imaginative power which will lead her life throughout her reading process. She cannot imagine 
 43
 
herself in the appropriate settings for a girl, determined by patriarchal society. She says, “I had 
a vision of myself in several inappropriate settings – clinging for example to enormous wooden 
curves of the seat of the water-closet, tightly in case of disappearing and being washed away 
to sea” (Gardam, 2001: 17). She calls this vision of herself inappropriate because her 
imaginations do not conform to social expectations. The sea is very important to Polly because 
it symbolises freedom and adventure. She longs to go beyond the confines of the Yellow House 
and discover a free life at sea; once, at the age of thirteen, she tells her Aunt Frances that she 
wants to go to sea, and she thinks this is because her father was a sea-captain. Although she 
knows she is lucky to live with her aunts, there is never any show of affection in the Yellow 
House. Her aunts are interested in Polly; however, she does not feel she belongs there because 
she does not want to be restricted either in marriage or religion like all the women around her. 
Therefore, reading Robinson Crusoe, she compares her status to his on the island after the 
shipwreck because she feels entrapped in the Yellow House without an opportunity to leave for 
an adventurous quest. She also feels herself as singled out and separated as Crusoe is; however, 
there is a certain difference between the reasons of their isolated positions. On the one hand, 
there is a young man who can go against his father’s will to pursue adventures at sea and singles 
himself out; on the other hand, there is a young woman who wants to achieve freedom but is 
confined to the house. Eventually, the Yellow House becomes Polly’s ship on which her father 
and Robinson Crusoe, like whom she wants to lead an independent life, are her role models. 
However, contrary to these men’s adventures at sea, Polly can never leave her house; instead, 
she starts a spiritual journey for self-discovery to claim an independent identity through her 
reading, writing, and teaching. 
 Polly is a rebel at a very early age; when Aunt Mary wants her to be confirmed, she 
says she does not want to because she feels that she has been told all is stupid in the church, 
and it is a waste of time to be there (Gardam, 2001: 32). What she sees in all the faithful women 
around her, including her aunts and Mrs. Woods, is isolation and alienation from the outside 
world. These women should either marry and serve their husbands’ happiness or dedicate 
themselves to the Church as faithful servants. However, Polly wants neither of these because 
she does not like the suffering and pain in the Church, and she does not like the bloody image 
of Christ there. She wants to have a free and happy life, and she wants to follow the angel she 
thinks she has seen on the marsh. She tells Charlotte that she believes the angel she has seen 
will lead her to a different direction from the one she is expected to follow in her life. This 
angel is not the angel in the house which symbolises the ideal woman; it is not even a woman 
but a “huge gold man” whose wings are curved over his head like a boat (Gardam, 2001: 30). 
The two angel figures completely differ from each other; while society tries to impose an 
angelic quality on the silent and self-sacrificing woman, Polly’s imaginary man-angel takes her 
to a different path in life. It does not represent the pure and selfless existence of woman at 
home; instead, it symbolises a rebellious and independent soul in Polly’s strong imagination 
and her attempt at liberating herself from social constraints.  
 Polly’s reading of Robinson Crusoe is the only way for her to activate her imagination 
through which she tries to achieve her freedom. According to David Novitz, it is important for 
the reader to respond emotionally to and be moved by the fiction so that s/he can achieve proper 
understanding, and the only way to respond emotionally is to respond imaginatively. Once the 
 44
 
reader does not respond imaginatively, s/he “discounts,” “disbelieves,” and “misunderstands” 
the fiction (Novitz, 1980: 282). Polly’s reaction to Crusoe’s adventures includes her 
imaginative responses because she wants to be as courageous as him to leave her position and 
seek her freedom outside. The character she identifies with is a man, and the rights he has are 
what Polly lacks to pursue her way into an independent life. However, as Novitz also 
emphasizes, the reader should be emotionally moved by the text to fully understand it. This 
certainly does not mean that s/he should (over)identify with fictional characters and forget that 
fiction is fictional, but that s/he should give her/his imaginative response so that s/he can 
understand it better. Polly is able to understand the text, which is also painful for her because 
this understanding brings about her awakening. 
 As for the reader’s identification with fictional characters, Henry Schoenmakers and 
Harry van Vliet introduced two different types of identification: “similarity identification” and 
“wish identification.” Similarity identification occurs when the reader realizes similarities 
between her/himself and the fictional character, while wish identification occurs when the 
reader perceives some aspects of the fictional character s/he also wants to have; in other words, 
the reader would like to resemble the fictional character (Andringa, 2004: 208). Polly’s 
identification with Crusoe is wish identification rather than similarity identification, as she 
wants to be like Crusoe, and she wants to have the courage he has. Yet, she cannot be like him 
because she is a woman; despite her wish for an escape from the Yellow House, she cannot do 
it, except in her imagination. Considering women’s position in society, the overreaction they 
give to fiction or their (over)identification with fictional characters are not because they are 
mindless but because they are deprived of an independent existence in society. Polly desires 
for Crusoe’s freedom to act; however, she also knows how she should behave, and this creates 
a conflict in her thoughts: “But I’m young and I’m empty of life. I just am. I sit thinking about 
myself all the time. I can’t – sort of ever forget myself and how I have to be. All the hymn-
words spring up and the Collects, Creeds and Epistles. There doesn’t seem anything else 
(Gardam, 2001: 56). Polly feels that her life is empty because she can neither obey the role 
assigned to women in society nor become what she wants to be like; thus, after reading about 
Crusoe’s adventures repeatedly, she is torn between her fictional desires and real possessions.  
 Despite this confusion, Polly continues to read and challenge the predetermined 
direction of her life as a woman. When Robert DeMaria discusses Coleridge’s and Frye’s 
notions of the ideal reader, he asserts that Coleridge’s ideal reader is the one who engages with 
what s/he reads and grows “intellectually or spiritually” throughout the reading process, while 
“Frye’s ideal reader is a hero embarked on a quest.” According to Frye, the ideal reader should 
be a participant, not just a spectator, so that reading becomes a critical understanding (DeMaria, 
1978: 467-469).  From Coleridge’s and Frye’s perspectives of the ideal reader, Polly’s reading 
is a critical process because she is spiritually improved and begins to question the society she 
lives in as a consequence of her reading. When she reads Robinson Crusoe, she is not only a 
spectator but also a participant, as she witnesses Crusoe’s experiences and thus becomes critical 
of the social constraints she tries to overcome.  
 On the other hand, Elizabeth A. Flynn approaches reading as a self and other 
relationship between the reader and the text. She states that her “analysis of the data was 
 45
 
informed by a conception of the reading process which assumes that reading involves a 
confrontation between self and "other." The self, the reader, encounters the "other," the text, 
and the nature of that confrontation depends upon the background of the reader as well as upon 
the text (Flynn, 1983: 236). So, Polly is the self, and the other she confronts through reading is 
Crusoe; while Crusoe has the opportunity to act according to his wishes as a man, Polly does 
not have the same opportunity as a woman. Reading Robinson Crusoe, Polly feels fascinated 
by her other and wishes to identify with him. As Flynn emphasizes, the background of the 
reader has an important function in the reading process; therefore, Polly’s background as a 
woman in an isolated house contributes to her wish identification with Crusoe. 
In her first letter to Aunt Frances, Polly questions her life in the Yellow House where she 
believes she has become fragmented and incomplete. What her aunts teach Polly indeed 
resembles what Crusoe’s father teaches him; while Crusoe’s father tells him that a home in the 
middle state is the best fortune for a human being, Polly is taught that a house is the safest and 
most sacred place for a woman. However, the situation is different for Polly and Crusoe because 
Crusoe, despite being suggested the opposite, has the right to do as he likes. The more Polly 
questions, the more she realizes gender differences and judges her position in society as a 
woman. She knows that she is not sent to school because she is a girl; had she been a boy, her 
aunts would have found the money required for her education (Gardam, 2001: 77). Education 
is not that important for girls because their ultimate purpose in life is to get married to have a 
status in society, and Polly also objects to marriage as the only hope for women: “I am being 
dissolved into a landscape and all hope for me is that someone will come and marry me to make 
things complete and take me away. But is marriage the only completing, necessary thing?” 
(Gardam, 2001: 77). When Aunt Frances gets married to Father Pocock, whom Polly believes 
she does not love, Polly thinks her aunt has lost her uncalculating self and is driven by the 
importance of being a married wife (Gardam, 2001: 66). However, Polly does not want to wait 
for someone to come and marry her so that she has a wife’s status in life; on the contrary, she 
wants to have freedom to claim her individual existence. Therefore, until the end of her life, 
she stays a virgin; she loves Theo Zeit, but when he marries someone else, she does not marry 
just for the sake of being a married woman. By not doing what is expected of a woman and 
surviving on her own, she becomes a rebel again. 
Anca Parvulescu claims that “marriage is a trap” to keep women in monotony and maintain the 
status quo (Parvulescu, 2004: 14). From a similar perspective, Dorothy Kaufmann McCall 
criticizes how women are made to believe that they will only have security under the control 
of a husband in marriage. Woman does not need to decide for her own future because her role 
as wife and mother will already be assigned to her; if she accepts her role, she will stay safe; 
however, she will lose her chance for transcendence. “Her femininity is the mirage that she will 
be taken care of, not only economically but absolutely. All the elements of woman’s situation 
encourage her to prefer the pleasures of passivity and the repose of definition to the risks and 
uncertainties of freedom” (McCall, 1979: 213). What is expected of the so-called true woman 
is to stay as passive as she can and keep away from the dangers of the public life; thus, both 
woman’s independent identity and creativity are impeded. However, Polly refuses to fulfil the 
feminine role assigned to her and seeks a different path to emancipation, maybe not at sea like 
her father and Crusoe, but by reading, writing, and teaching the young generation in a school.  
 46
 
 Another issue Polly questions is that women are to be ashamed of their sexuality. The 
first time Polly experiences this is her first day of menstruation; she has never been told about 
it, and she is shocked to see that she bleeds. At first, she believes she is dying because she 
refused to be confirmed, which means although she rebels in her refusal, she still considers this 
a reason for punishment. On the other hand, her aunts’ and Mrs. Wood’s reactions are also 
worth considering. Mrs. Woods faints; Aunt Mary immediately runs away to get Aunt Frances, 
and Aunt Frances says she will get Charlotte. They finally leave Charlotte with Polly to take 
care of her and explain what is happening to her. All these reactions of the women around Polly 
and the fact that only Charlotte can tell her about menstruation prove how woman’s sexuality 
is turned into a taboo. Simone de Beauvoir also points out in The Second Sex that the girl cannot 
understand the significance of what is happening to her when she has her first period. Whether 
she has been warned beforehand or not, the feeling of shame is always there, and what happens 
is “repugnant and humiliating” to her (Beauvoir, 1989: 310). Polly even breaks the mandarin, 
her father’s present to her, because she believes that he should not see what is happening to 
her; it is a source of shame for her.  
In the Yellow House, Polly is not taught about love or sexuality; she says there was even no 
talk about love, and sexuality was already a taboo. Not knowing anything about sexuality, Polly 
wonders how much the others who seem to be disinterested are aware of it. Years later, Alice 
and Polly read John Cleland’s Fanny Hill, a novel about the sexual adventures of a young 
woman; they enjoy reading it, but they cannot avoid feeling embarrassed and thinking whom 
it belonged to. When she learns that the book belonged to Grandmother Younghusband, Polly 
cannot believe this because she is conditioned that it is embarrassing to read or talk about such 
issues. When Paul holds her hand for the first time, she feels disappointed because she has 
imagined that holding a man’s hand would feel much better. However, when she has some 
moments with her love Theo Zeit’s hand around her shoulder, she gets excited to smell a man 
and begins to cry because she thinks she is so weak that she feels excited by a man’s smell. In 
another scene, she takes off her clothes and falls asleep by a river as a result of which she feels 
extremely ashamed, wondering whether anyone has seen her. All these experiences of Polly 
demonstrate that woman’s body and sexuality are taboo in society, and although Polly wants to 
overcome them, she still cannot help feeling ashamed.  
 Polly’s experiences when she writes letters to Theo while he is fighting also show how 
women are restricted from reading, writing, or talking about sexuality. As she writes how much 
she loves him in a passionate way, she feels embarrassed and hesitates if she should send such 
letters to a man even if he is a lover because a woman is supposed to be decent and not to talk 
about her passions. She questions how she could have written such letters and wonders if any 
other woman could have ever written such passionate letters (Gardam, 2001: 163). However, 
the more she thinks that women should not write about their desires and passions, the more she 
continues to write “about wanting him” (Gardam, 2001: 163). Polly becomes rebellious in her 
passionate letters to Theo, and she fights not only her feeling of shame but also the social 
pressure on woman’s sexuality. All that she knows about sexuality comes from her reading of 
Fanny Hill, and whatever she writes to Theo is also inspired by that book. The focus here is 
again on the significance of woman’s reading, and why it is considered dangerous. Reading 
 47
 
such novels which focus on woman’s body and sexuality teaches women readers about their 
bodies and thus has the potential to destroy the rigid moral values of patriarchal society.  
 Although Polly tries hard to overcome the constraints of the social order, when she first 
learns that her grandmother cheated on her husband with Mr. Thwaite, she cannot help 
despising her grandmother for such a sinful act. However, thinking more reasonably, she 
recognizes how lonely her grandmother must have felt with a husband “quietly turning pages, 
singing hymns as he bounded into the sea. Gazing at stones. Poor woman” (Gardam, 2001: 
211). At first glance, her grandmother’s adultery seems to be a terrible act which makes her a 
terrible woman in Polly’s mind; however, the more Polly thinks about her grandmother’s 
situation, the more she begins to pity her. She did not have a caring husband, and she was so 
lonely that she fell in love with a man twenty years younger than her and tried to find happiness 
in his love. Thus, Polly rationalizes her grandmother’s adultery, realizing the restricted life she 
had been forced into. Apparently, her reading process opens Polly’s eyes to the realities of 
women’s lives, and she is able to identify more with these women’s feelings. 
CONCLUSION 
 When Theo Zeit marries another woman, Polly is left all alone in the world with 
Robinson Crusoe, and she wants to be able to take control over her emotions as Crusoe does. 
She calls him “her idol,” “her king,” “mastery of circumstances,” “her father and mother,” “the 
unchanging,” and “the faithful” (Gardam, 2001: 169). She falls into depression at the age of 
twenty with nothing to do in the Yellow House. She envies Crusoe, “not his suffering and 
repentance but his powers to put up a fight; his power of analysis, his courage, ruthlessness in 
leaving all he had been brought up to respect and his wonderful survival after disaster” 
(Gardam, 2001: 174). In other words, she envies the courage of a man who can act against the 
teachings of society, and she repents that she cannot do it herself. She starts drinking and 
writing, without paying any attention to her appearance. However, writing becomes a means 
of recreating herself by killing the angel in the house as Virginia Woolf states in “Women and 
Fiction”: “Killing the Angel in the House was part of the occupation of a woman writer” 
(Woolf, 2009: 142). According to Sandra Gilbert and Susan Gubar, killing the angel in the 
house means “killing the aesthetic ideal through which they themselves have been “killed” into 
art” (Gilbert, Gubar, 2000: 17). Woman needs to free herself from her role as the angel in the 
house if she wants to write. Since she has been killed into literature, defined by man who shapes 
her existence according to the needs of society, she has been forced to maintain a life of 
obedience to man’s authority. However, first through reading, woman begins to witness the 
different lives pursued by fictional characters, either men or women, and then eventually 
through writing, she achieves her liberation to define her own identity and body. After Theo’s 
marriage, Polly does not marry a man although she does not love him as her aunt Frances did 
in the past. She recovers alcoholism, devotes herself to writing, and then becomes a school 
mistress to teach schoolboys. Finally, she believes that she has overcome her fever with Crusoe, 
“I walked slowly. I was thinking of my strange madness of long ago, my obsession with my 
paradigm, Robinson Crusoe, now quite gone, fled like the end of a love-affair, the bird flown 
from the shoulder. The fever over” (Gardam, 2001: 197). 
 48
 
Her fever is over when she recreates herself and claims her free identity in her writing and 
teaching. She achieves her own liberation by reading, writing, and teaching her experiences. 
She empties her shelves and donates all her books to Thwaite School, but she keeps Robinson 
Crusoe because even though she has overcome her reading fever, Crusoe survives as her idol 
figure, who has led her life into a quest for identity and freedom in reading. She dies in the 
Yellow House, her own ship on which she sailed for self-discovery, at the age of eighty-seven, 
without being able to leave it on a real ship for more adventures, but achieving what most 
women cannot, challenging the social roles assigned to women, taking the risk of not marrying, 
adopting Theo’s daughters, and achieving her search for a free identity. She dies as the lost 
daughter of Robison Crusoe, but she has found her independent self.  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
WORKS CITED 
 49
 
Andringa, E., (2004). The Interface between Fiction and Life: Patterns of Identification in 
Reading Autobiographies. Poetics Today, 25(1): 205-240. 
Beauvoir, S.de., (1989). The Second Sex. Vintage Books, New York. 
Charlton, M., Corinna, P., Christina, B., (2004). Reading Strategies in Everyday Life: Different 
Ways of Reading a Novel Which Make a Distinction. Poetics Today, 25(2): 241-263. 
DeMaria, R., (1978). The Ideal Reader: A Critical Fiction. PMLA, 93(3): 463-474. 
Flynn, E. A., (1983). Gender and Reading. College English, 45(3): 236-253. 
Gardam, J., (2001). Crusoe’s Daughter. Abacus, London. 
Gilbert, S. M., Gubar, S., (2000). The Madwoman in the Attic: The Woman Writer and the 
Nineteenth-Century Literary Imagination. Yale University Press, London. 
Howard, J. H., Allen, C., (1990). The Gendered Context of Reading. Gender and Society, 4(4): 
534-552. 
Kelly, G., (1990). Unbecoming a Heroine: Novel Reading, Romanticism, and Berrett’s The 
Heroine. Nineteenth Century Literature, 45(2): 220-241. 
Littau, K., (2006). Theories of Reading: Books, Bodies and Bibliomania. Polity Press, 
Cambridge. 
McCall, D. K., (1979). Simone de Beauvoir, “The Second Sex”, and Jean-Paul Sartre. Signs, 
5(2): 209-223. 
Novitz, D., (1980). Fiction, Imagination and Emotion. The Journal of Aesthetics and Art 
Criticism, 38(3): 279-288. 
Parvulescu, A., (2004). Beyond Marriage: The Couple. Discourse, 26(3): 3-17. 
Woolf, V., (2009). Selected Essays. Oxford University Press, Oxford. 
Yeazell, R., (1974). Fictional Heroines and Feminist Critics. NOVEL: A Forum on Fiction, 
8(1): 29-38.  
 50
 
A DIACHRONIC CORPUS-BASED STUDY ON SELECTED LONELINESS NOVELS 
  
Mandana Kolahdouz Mohammadi10 
 
ABSTRACT 
 
Being alone can cause different sensations; some people feel relaxed, and others feel anxious. 
That is why researchers distinguish between solitude and loneliness, which is believed later is 
a positive feeling. During the last decades, writers have tried to portray loneliness in their 
novels; the present study aims to investigate the manifestation of loneliness in these novels. 
According to digital humanities, text analysis tools can facilitate extracting information from a 
collection of texts and comparing two or more texts. So, the present article using text mining 
tools and KWIC, aims to analyze five selected loneliness novels from the eighteen to the 
twentieth centuries. The central hypothesis of the present study is that the nature of loneliness, 
its related synonyms, and its way of expression have changed over time. On the other hand, it 
seems that there is a relationship between KWICs of happiness, time, stress, depression, and 
KWIC of loneliness in these novels. Results indicated that time KWICs had a higher frequency 
in all the studied novels. In the twentieth century, when the KWICs of "anxiety and fear" 
increase, "happiness" decreases. Although these novels were related to loneliness only in the 
twentieth century, loneliness KWIC and its synonyms "solitude, single, and alone" has been 
stated explicitly. Based on the present study's findings, the preference to be alone is high, which 
is associated with low anxiety, stress, and even low happiness. 
 
Key Words: Loneliness Novels, Corpus Analysis, Kwic, Diachronic Approach, Anxiety 
INTRODUCTION  
The scientific study of loneliness has more than a half-century old, but loneliness has always 
been a dominant theme in literature, philosophy, and art. Loneliness frequently manifests itself 
in significant literary works, albeit sometimes covertly, and it serves as a lens through which 
the full range of human experience can be viewed (Mijuskovic,1984). Among the fundamental 
elements of loneliness are anxiety and depression (Mijuskovic,1996). Some believe that 
consciousness about loneliness has existed for a long time, but the essential nature of loneliness 
has remained unchanged (Mijuskovic,2012). Writers have attempted to portray loneliness in 
their novels throughout the last few decades; the current study intends to explore the expression 
of loneliness in certain selected books and establish whether the nature of loneliness has 
evolved. 
REVIEW OF LITERATURE  
Over the past two decades, studies have provided significant, ground-breaking information on 
loneliness. Wood (1987) examined various theories on loneliness, including social and 
 
10 Assistant Professor, Department of foreign languages and linguistics, PNU, Iran 
 51
 
evolutionary theories, and considered the role of language in shaping our experience of 
loneliness. She also thought about the potential cultural and societal factors contributing to 
loneliness, such as social isolation and the breakdown of traditional social structures. The 
authors argued that addressing these factors may be vital in reducing loneliness in society. 
Codd (2007) emphasized the importance of addressing prisoners' families' social and emotional 
needs in resettlement to reduce loneliness and support successful reintegration into society. 
Mijuskovic (2012) studied loneliness from various perspectives, including philosophy, 
psychology, and literature. His book explores the causes and effects of loneliness and its 
relationship to other emotions, such as sadness and depression. 
Guntuku et al. (2019) studied how Twitter can be used to explore expressions of loneliness in 
individuals. The authors found that lonely individuals on Twitter tend to express their 
loneliness through various languages and topics, including words related to social isolation, 
emotional distress, and the need for social connection. The study also found that lonely 
individuals on Twitter tend to use more negative language and express more negative emotions 
than non-lonely individuals.   
Mishra, Mishra, & Sharma (2023) mention that Mary Shelley's Frankenstein is a powerful lens 
through which we can view how society alienates people because of certain characteristics that 
do not normally fit society's desired and established taste. The creature does not want to be 
alone; he wants friends and a family; he becomes nasty only when he feels rejected and alone. 
METHODOLOGY 
Text analysis tools, according to digital humanities, may assist in extracting information from 
a collection of texts and comparing two or more texts. By reviewing the related literature, it 
was figured out that few studies have been carried out to investigate loneliness in the selected 
novels. Therefore, the present article using text mining tools and KWIC, aimed to analyze five 
selected loneliness novels from the eighteenth to the twentieth centuries.  
The present study, through content analysis and comparative study, aims to analyze loneliness 
in the selected novels during the last decades. The methodology for analyzing loneliness 
involves a combination of qualitative and quantitative methods, which can provide a deeper 
understanding of these selected novels.  
So, content analysis involves identifying and categorizing KWICs in these novels. Content 
analysis can help to determine how the authors represent loneliness in the novels. 
Yet, comparative analysis can identify similarities and differences in the representation of 
KWICs across these novels. Comparative research can help identify common themes and 
motifs and how authors approach these themes differently. 
The central hypothesis of the present study was that the nature of loneliness, its related 
synonyms, and its way of expression have changed over time. On the other hand, it seems that 
there was a relationship between KWICs of happiness, time, stress, depression, and KWIC of 
loneliness in these novels. Table (1) indicates the studied novels in this research along with 
their authors and date of publication. Following, we are going to have a brief review of each 
novel. 
Table (1) selected novels regarding loneliness 
Book's Name Publication year Author 
 52
 
Robinson Crusoe 1719 Daniel Defoe 
Frankenstein 1818 Mary Shelley 
The Well of Loneliness 1928 Radclyffe Hall 
A Writer's Diary 1953 Virginia Woolf 
The Bell Jar  1963 Victoria Lucas 
The Lonely City 2016 Olivia Laing 
Robinson Crusoe (1719) is about the adventures of a young man who, against his family's 
wishes, sets sail on a ship to explore the world. After a disastrous storm, he becomes stranded 
on a deserted island with no other human beings in sight. Crusoe must learn to survive 
independently, build shelter, find food and water, and defend himself against wild animals.  
Crusoe spends years on the island, gradually becoming more skilled at survival and 
increasingly lonely. He longs for human companionship and spends much time reflecting on 
his past mistakes and the choices that led him to this isolated existence. The novel highlights 
the devastating effects of prolonged loneliness on a person's mental and emotional well-being. 
Crusoe's experiences illustrate the importance of human connection and the need for 
companionship, even in the most challenging circumstances. 
Frankenstein (1818) is a novel that explores the theme of loneliness. Loneliness presents itself 
in Frankenstein through the characters' estrangement, whether by choice or compulsion. Victor 
chooses isolation to continue his studies from the start of the tale.  
Victor abandons school and isolates himself from his loved ones as he pursues his quest for 
knowledge. He robs graves and works in a remote place in his house to assemble the sculpture. 
His ambition leads him to construct the creature out of body parts and chemicals, but he never 
examines the morbidity of what he is striving to do in his selfish pursuit of greatness. Victor is 
overtaken with disappointment and terror at the horror he created after giving the creature life.  
The novel underscores the devastating effects of loneliness on individuals and the importance 
of human connection and companionship. Frankenstein and his creature are cautionary tales, 
highlighting the importance of compassion, empathy, and understanding in building and 
maintaining human connections.  
In Well of Loneliness (1928), Stephen struggles with feelings of loneliness and isolation, as 
she cannot connect with others in the same way that her heterosexual peers are. As a child, she 
is rejected by her mother and punished for her masculine behavior, making her feel like an 
outsider in her family.  
As she grows older, she struggles to find meaningful relationships and is often rejected or 
ostracized by others due to her sexuality. Stephen remains profoundly isolated and alone 
despite her efforts to find companionship and understanding. She is forced to confront the 
reality that she may never find true acceptance or love in a world that views her as unnatural 
and deviant. 
 The novel emphasizes the devastating impact of loneliness on the human psyche, as Stephen's 
isolation leads her to suffer from depression and suicidal thoughts. Ultimately, this novel serves 
as a powerful critique of the societal norms and expectations that lead to feelings of alienation 
and isolation for individuals who do not fit into traditional gender or sexual roles. 
 53
 
A Writer's Diary (1953 often reflects her experiences with loneliness as a writer and woman in 
early 20th-century England. Throughout the diary, Woolf reveals her struggles with isolation 
due to her work and personal life.  
As a writer, she often writes about her struggles with depression and anxiety. Despite the 
profound loneliness that she experiences, Woolf finds solace in her writing and her connection 
to nature. She often writes about the beauty of the natural world and how it provides her with 
a sense of peace and belonging. Her diary entries are a powerful reminder of the emotions of 
isolation and the importance of finding connection and meaning in our lives. 
The Bell Jar (1963) tells the story of Esther Greenwood, a young woman struggling with mental 
illness and isolation in the 1950s. Throughout the novel, loneliness is a prominent theme 
explored in various ways. Esther feels lonely and disconnected from the people around her, 
even when friends and colleagues surround her. She struggles to connect with others and often 
feels misunderstood. Her sense of isolation is exacerbated by her mental illness, which makes 
it difficult for her to relate to others and engage in meaningful relationships. 
As the novel progresses, Esther's sense of loneliness and isolation becomes more acute. She 
becomes increasingly detached from her surroundings and experiences a sense of alienation 
from the world. This loneliness ultimately leads to a mental breakdown and her hospitalization 
in a psychiatric institution. This novel is a powerful exploration of the experience of loneliness 
and its impact on a person's mental health.  
The Lonely City (2016) explores the experience of loneliness in the modern urban world 
through the lens of art, literature, and personal experience. Loneliness is a significant issue that 
is covered in depth throughout the book. Laing investigates how loneliness manifests 
differently for various people and how it can be both a cause of misery and a spur for creativity 
and self-discovery. Laing draws on the lives and works of several artists, writers, and musicians 
who have experienced loneliness. Through her analysis of their work, Laing illuminates how 
loneliness can shape and inspire artistic expression.  
FINDINGS 
After collecting the data, the Key Word In Context (KWIC) lemma was extracted using text 
analysis tools. A lemma is usually found in dictionaries and represents the primary form of a 
word. Lemma belongs to the same introductory word class; for example, the verb lemma walk 
consists of the words walk, walked, walking, and walks (Baker 2006). Table (2) indicates the 
frequency of KWICs in selected novels. These keywords were selected based on the elements 
that are available in loneliness. 
Table (2) Frequency of KWICs in selected novels 
KWIC (1719) (1818) (1928) (1953) (1963) (2016) 
time* 363 135 297 286 162 216 
self* 327 35 68 28 4 64 
fear* 51 85 70 27 4 43 
depress* 5 7 18 44 12 9 
anxiety* 3 10 5 6 0 20 
stress* 5 0 2 4 1 10 
happi* 12 58 16 31 4 7 
 54
 
According to this table, the frequency of time was high in Robinson Crusoe (1719); after that, 
The Well of Loneliness (1928) had the highest frequency. The frequency of using KWIC time 
is high in these novels for several reasons. One possible explanation is that the author may use 
time to structure the narrative and create a sense of pacing and progression. By emphasizing 
the passage of time, the author can highlight key events and moments of transformation in the 
story. 
In the case of "Robinson Crusoe" and "The Well of Loneliness," it is possible that the high 
frequency of time references reflects the importance of time in the respective narratives. In 
"Robinson Crusoe," the protagonist is stranded on a deserted island for many years, and the 
passage of time is a key theme throughout the novel. The protagonist must learn to adapt and 
survive over an extended period, and the use of time conveys the sense of isolation and his 
challenges. 
Similarly, in "The Well of Loneliness," the use of time references may reflect the protagonist's 
struggle with loneliness and isolation over an extended period. The novel spans several years, 
and the frequent references to time may highlight the protagonist's sense of disconnection from 
society and the difficulty she faces in finding meaningful connections. 
In Frankenstein (1818), the fear of KWIC had the highest frequency. The frequent usage of the 
keyword "fear" may indicate that emotion is important in the text and is most likely utilized as 
a literary device to build tension, suspense, and conflict. Fear is frequently used in novels to 
generate a sense of unease or danger in both the characters and the reader. Fear can create 
tension, increase anticipation, and keep readers interested. Furthermore, fear can be utilized to 
investigate deeper psychological topics such as dread of the unknown, fear of death, or fear of 
rejection. 
In The Lonely City (2016), the "anxiety and stress" KWICs had the highest frequency than 
other novels. This frequency suggests that anxiety and stress might be prominent themes or 
topics in this novel, which can be the common emotions many people experience. Therefore, 
it is not uncommon for these emotions to appear frequently in novels, particularly in this era. 
Furthermore, "The Lonely City" is a non-fiction book that explores the experience of 
loneliness, which is often associated with anxiety and stress. Therefore, it is possible that the 
high frequency of the keywords "anxiety and stress" is related to the book's exploration of the 
theme of loneliness. 
 
0,003
0,0025
0,002
0,0015
0,001
0,0005
0
time* self* fear* depress* anxiety* stress* Happiness*
Robinson Crusoe Frankenstein The Well of Loneliness A Writer’s Diary The Bell Jar lonely city  
Diagram(1) KWICs in selected Novels 
 55
 
According to Diagram (1) and Table (2), the second-highest KWIC is "self " One possible 
reason is that the author may be exploring the inner thoughts, emotions, and experiences of the 
protagonist. Using the word "self," the author can emphasize the protagonist's individuality and 
unique perspective, which can help create empathy and emotional engagement with the reader.  
In the case of "Robinson Crusoe," the high frequency of "self" references may reflect the 
protagonist's struggle to maintain his sense of self-identity in the face of adversity. The 
protagonist is stranded on a deserted island for many years, and the frequent use of "self" 
references may emphasize his isolation and the challenges he faces in maintaining his sense of 
self in a hostile environment. 
In contrast, "The Bell Jar" may have a lower frequency of "self" references because the 
protagonist's sense of self is what she is struggling with. The lower frequency of "self" 
references may reflect the protagonist's difficulty understanding and connecting with her 
identity. 
Table (3) Frequency of time-related KWICs in selected novels 
 1719 1818 1928  1953 1963 2016 
yesterday* 0 5 0  124 0 1 
today* 0 2 4  103 0 5 
tonight* 0 0 4  20 0 1 
sunday* 4 1 14  107 10 5 
monday* 0 1 4  107 3 1 
tuesday* 0 0 2  103 1 0 
wednesday* 0 0 0  90 0 3 
thursday* 0 1 0  98 1 0 
friday* 213 0 0  89 1 3 
saturday* 2 0 0  85 6 5 
minute* 18 19 25  54 59 14 
hour* 63 65 61  70 31 30 
 
Due to the high frequency of the time KWIC, the author investigated the frequency of time-
related KWICs in selected novels (Diagram 1). According to Table (3) and Diagram (2) "hour 
and minute" are the most frequent keywords in all novels. Here we will mention why these 
novels might have high frequency of time and hour. Time and hour serve to provide a feeling 
of place and atmosphere. The author might define the atmosphere and tone of the scenario by 
specifying the time of day or night. For example, a scenario that takes place in the morning 
may have a different feel than one that occurs at midnight. Following are some examples of 
using time-related keywords.  
Every morning I walked out with my Gun for two or three hours if it did not rain (Crusoe, 
1719). 
I reached the park at Dumbo, where on Sundays, you'd see Puerto Rican wedding couples come 
to have their photos taken (The Lonely City, 2016) 
Time and the hour may be exploited to create tension and suspense. The author may keep the 
reader involved and committed to the tale by generating a feeling of urgency or impending 
disaster through time limits. The exact minute or hour can also be utilized to shape the 
personality or habits of a character. For example, a character who mentions time in minutes 
 56
 
may be perceived as obsessive or too detail-oriented. On the other hand, the author can generate 
a feeling of immediacy by employing time markers to indicate how events evolve in real time. 
hour*
minute*
saturday*
friday*
thursday*
wednesday*
tuesday*
monday*
sunday*
tonight*
today*
yesterday*
0 0,0002 0,0004 0,0006 0,0008 0,001 0,0012 0,0014 0,0016
lonely city The Bell Jar A Writer’s Diary The Well of Loneliness Frankenstein Robinson Crusoe
 
Diagram(2) Comparing  time-related KWICs in selected novels 
Based on the above diagram, the frequency of time-related keywords was high in "A Writer's 
Diary" maybe because Woolf kept her diary to record her everyday activities and creative 
process. The diary, which included her life from 1915-1941, thoroughly accounts for Woolf's 
thoughts, feelings, and experiences over a long time. Woolf's diary also served as a place to 
reflect on her writing process and the problems she encountered. She was able to spot trends 
and gain insight into her creative process. In this diary, Woolf frequently mentioned how much 
time she spent writing or how many days had gone since she had worked on a certain topic. 
Yet, based on Diagram (2), in addition to "A Writer's Diary" the frequency of Saturday and 
Sunday was high in "The Bell of Jar and The Lonely City" which can be because Saturday and 
Sunday are usually the days of the week when individuals get time off from work or school 
and may have more free time to pursue their hobbies or socialize. In "Lonely City," Laing looks 
into urban loneliness and how it affects people in today's fast-paced cities. She may be 
emphasizing the frequency of Saturdays and Sundays to emphasize the difference between the 
 57
 
hectic workweek and the comparatively vacant weekends, which can heighten feelings of 
loneliness. 
Similarly, in "The Bell Jar," based on the following sentences regarding Saturday, the character 
feels uneasy and worried and may link them with feelings of awkwardness or social discomfort. 
The character has a pleasant association with Sundays in the second phrase, notably with her 
grandfather bringing her an avocado pear. For the protagonist, this reminiscence may generate 
feelings of warmth, nostalgia, and comfort. 
I hated coming downstairs sweaty-handed and curious every Saturday night and having some 
senior introduce me to her aunt's best friend's son (The Bell Jar, 1963). 
Every Sunday my grandfather used to bring me an avocado pear hidden at the bottom of his 
briefcase under six soiled shirts and the Sunday comics (The Bell Jar, 1963). 
Therefore, based on these sentences, her Saturdays are linked with social anxiety and 
discomfort, and Sundays are linked with happy recollections of family and comfort. However, 
it is vital to remember that these two phrases only convey a sliver of the author's entire views 
about certain days of the week, and more context would be required to appreciate her point of 
view properly. 
According to Diagram (2), the frequency of using Friday was higher in "Robinson Crusoe" 
than in other novels because "Friday" is the name of the native guy who meets Robinson Crusoe 
and becomes his devoted companion and servant. İn the following sentence, it can be inferred 
that because Robinson saved that man on Friday has named him so.  
I made him know his name should be Friday, which was the day I saved his life (Crusoe, 1719). 
In the next step, the author of the present article investigated these synonyms in the selected 
novels to see whether the authors have also used these synonyms or not. Figure(1) indicates 
the word map of KWIC loneliness generated by Visual Thesaurus. This word map shows the 
relationship among the synonyms of loneliness.  
 
Figure (1) Word map of loneliness  
Based on Diagram (3), the frequency of the synonym "alone" in addition to The Lonely City 
(2016)  was high in Frankenstein (1818) and Well of Loneliness (1928), and the frequency of 
"loneliness" KWIC was high only in The Lonely City (2016). 
 58
 
0,0025
0,002
0,0015
0,001
0,0005
0
single* solitary* alone* desolat* solitude* Loneliness*
Robinson Crusoe Frankenstein The Well of Loneliness The Bell Jar A Writer’s Diary lonely city
 
Diagram(3) synonym KWICs of loneliness 
The author first assumed that this frequency (Diagram 3) is due to the name of the novel "The 
Lonely City", but this frequency was not incident in "Well of Loneliness". Loneliness may be 
utilized in "The Lonely City" to explain the impact of urban living (stress, the hustle, and 
bustle) on humans and the search for being alone and staying away from negative aspects. 
0,0025
0,002
0,0015
0,001
0,0005
0
fear* depress* anxiety* stress* Happiness* Loneliness* alone*
Robinson Crusoe Frankenstein The Well of Loneliness A Writer’s Diary The Bell Jar lonely city
 
Diagram(4) Comparision of KWIC 
The above diagram compares the frequency of KWIC in isolation novels. So, the author 
decided to visualize the relationship of these KWICs through the VOS viewer. In Figure (2) 
network visualization, items are represented by their label and by a circle. The KWICs' 
frequency determines the size of the label and the circle of an item. The higher the frequency 
of KWIC, the larger the label and the circle of it (Van Eck and Waltman, 2018). 
 59
 
 
Figure (2) Network visualization of The Lonely City's (2016) KWICs  
According to Diagram(4) and Figure (2), a relationship can be seen between KWIcs in "The 
Lonely City". It means that Along with the high frequency of loneliness, there can be a lower 
frequency of fear, depression, anxiety, and stress. In other words, based on our findings, 
loneliness may be a common experience, but it does not inevitably lead to other negative 
emotional states. So, when a person is lonely, they may feel secure but less happy.  
CONCLUSION 
Results indicated that time KWICs had a higher frequency in all the studied novels. This 
frequency may suggest that the text explores the passage of time, the effects of time on 
characters and events, or the relationship between past, present, and future. On the other hand, 
the usage of time-related keywords was also evident; the highest frequency belonged to hour 
and minute in all novels.  
Loneliness is a sense of being separated or isolated from others that can be induced by various 
circumstances, including social isolation, a lack of companionship, or a sense of not belonging. 
While loneliness is unpleasant, it does not necessarily have to be followed by other negative 
emotions. Based on the present study's findings, loneliness may occur frequently, but this does 
not imply that other bad feelings will also occur frequently, as a person may experience 
loneliness without experiencing other negative emotions. The high frequency of using the word 
loneliness was observed in "The Lonely City" when there was a low frequency of happiness, 
anxiety, and stress KWICs. A person may be lonely but not necessarily afraid, sad, nervous, or 
stressed. 
In contrast, a person may feel fear, despair, worry, or stress without feeling lonely. Several 
circumstances can trigger these emotional states and occur independently of loneliness. On the 
other hand, Although these novels were related to loneliness only in the twentieth century, 
 60
 
loneliness KWIC and its synonyms "solitude, single, and alone" has been stated explicitly. 
Further studies can provide a more comprehensive and nuanced understanding of these novels.  
 
REFERENCES  
Baker, P. (2006). Glossary of corpus linguistics. Edinburgh University Press.  
Codd, H. (2007). Prisoners' families and resettlement: A critical analysis. The Howard Journal 
of Criminal Justice, 46(3), 255-263. 
Defoe, D. (1719). Robinson Crusoe. Oxford University Press. 
Guntuku, S. C., Schneider, R., Pelullo, A., Young, J., Wong, V., Ungar, L., ... & Merchant, R. 
(2019). Studying expressions of loneliness in individuals using Twitter: an observational study. 
BMJ open, 9(11), e030355. 
Hall, R. (1928). The Well of Loneliness. London, Virago. 
Laing, O. (2016). The lonely city: Adventures in the art of being alone. Macmillan. 
Mijuskovic, B. L. (1984). Contingent immaterialism: Meaning, freedom, time, and mind. John 
Benjamins Publishing. 
Mijuskovic, B. L. (2012). Loneliness in philosophy, psychology, and literature. Bloomington: 
iUniverse. 
Mishra, S. K., Mishra, P., & Sharma, J. K. (2023). Elements of Horror, Grotesque Bodies, and 
the Fragmentation of Identity in Mark Shelley's Frankenstein. International Journal of 
Language, Literature, and Culture, 3(2). 
Plath, S. (1936). The Bell Jar. Faber & Faber. 
Shelley, M. (1818/1831). Frankenstein. Barnes & Noble Books. 
Van Eck, N. J., & Waltman, L. (2018). VOSviewer manual. Manual for VOSviewer version, 
1(0). 
Wood, L. A. (1987). Loneliness: Physiological or linguistic analysis? Journal of Social 
Behavior and Personality, 2(2), 41. 
 
  
 61
 
THE EVOLUTION OF GERALT OF RIVIA THE WITCHER THROUGH MEDIUMS 
 
Selis Yıldız Şen11 
 
ABSTRACT 
 
Andrzej Sapkowski’s fantasy series, The Witcher (1993), set in a fantasy world filled with 
mythical creatures, characters, and stories, and is especially known for its phenomenal 
protagonist, Geralt of Rivia, has been adapted into multiple mediums, such as video games, a 
feature film, and a Netflix series. Throughout these adaptations, beginning with the 2001 film 
The Hexer and continuing to the present day with the Netflix series The Witcher (2019), Geralt 
of Rivia, a character who is often associated with isolation and seclusion as an anti-hero, goes 
through a certain and inevitable change; a transformation and evolution that occurs through the 
practice of adaptation as well as the reader’s contribution. The aim of this paper is to examine 
the transformation and evolution of The Witcher’s main character, Geralt of Rivia, through 
various adaptations by comparing the introductory scenes in each medium, and the impact of 
the process of adaptation on the audience’s perception of the character, as well as the impact 
of the audience on the adaptation process, therefore, narrative and the evolution of Geralt of 
Rivia. We will be referencing a number of theoretical texts to serve as frameworks in 
understanding the evolution of the Witcher’s character in the interpretative adaptation process 
he is exposed to. In the section to come, we will focus on the early traces of reader response 
theory and hints of adaptation studies.  
 
 The Reader versus The Author versus The Text 
The lines of the interaction between the reader and the text (or any form of art) may be traced 
all the way to Aristotle, when he, in his Poetics, talks about the nature and function of poetry 
and literature regarding the point of interaction between the reader and the text. Even going as 
far back as this, we see the presence of the interaction between the reader and the text, as well 
as the significance and function of reader response. As a result, it may be said that the matter 
of the reader’s capability of influencing the course of literature through response and reception 
takes one of its most distinct shapes in 1935, when Walter Benjamin writes about the 
relationship between art, the production of art, and the response of the masses to the production 
of art; and in 1967, when Roland Barthes writes on the matter of the origin of the text, as well 
as the reader and the author’s position in a rather complex and interconnected dynamic.  
While Benjamin claims that reproduction destroys the aura of the original work of art, making 
it more accessible to the masses but also undermining its authority and uniqueness, Barthes 
claims that there is no such thing as “an original” text, since all works of art and literature are 
made up of quotations from other works, making all products of art and literature connected 
and interrelated, the reader being the active agent sustaining the dynamic of flow in this pattern 
of connectivity, the activity and agency of whom is realized at the cost of the death of the 
author.  
Both theories argue that art and literature must eliminate either the masses (readers) or the 
author to exist. Modern adaptation studies and the interpretive role of adaptation, on the other 
hand, recover the damage of such polarization of an either-this-or-that conflict. 
In the next section, we will briefly discuss the role and function of interpretation in the process 
of adaptation.  
The Process of Adaptation as Interpretation 
 
11 Research Assistant, Yaşar University, Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences 
 62
 
There are many ways to describe what an adaptation is; indeed, the definition changes from 
one work of adaptation to another, that is, each work of adaptation changes and adds to the 
definition of adaptation and adaptation studies. In A Theory of Adaptation, Linda Hutcheon 
defines adaptation as follows: 
 
An acknowledged transposition of a recognizable other work or works; a creative and an 
interpretive act of appropriation/salvaging; an extended intertextual engagement with the 
adapted work; an adaptation is a derivation that is not derivative—a work that is second without 
being secondary. It is its own palimpsestic thing (27-28). 
  
Adaptation, then, is the product that is born out of an interpretative and creative dialogue, the 
interaction between the reader and a text. 
 In John Bryant’s terms, “Adaptation is an announced retelling of an originating text” 
(48). Adaptation as an announced retelling is yet another way of considering adaptation as a 
manifestation of an interpretation born out of the interaction between a (source or original text) 
and a reader. Bryant adds that, each version as an adaptation carries an individual identity, and 
the practice of studying adaptation reveals the individualities and significances of these 
versions as borders and boundaries between each version (49). Thus, it is safe to say that the 
differences between versions of adaptations are not margins of differentiation but points of 
interconnection. In that sense, adaptation may easily be considered as a site of interactions and 
interconnectedness.  
Along with all these definitions, categorizations and terminology, adaptation is also simply, in 
the words of William Verrone, “a disciplinary act; adaptation is, inherently, the study of 
transcription, which is a form of translation, in the sense that one thing is being transformed 
into another” (27). Indeed, adaptation is a discipline, a practice which involves an active and 
creative translation, transformation; it is a realization of experience and transcription born out 
of mutual interaction. In fact, Jørgen Bruhn goes as far as to suggest that the process of 
adaptation is even capable of changing the source text as well: “Should we not admit that the 
adaptive process is dialectical, and that the source text is changed in the process of adaptation 
as well?” (20). Even though this particular claim is related to the aspect of mutuality and 
reciprocity between the original and the adaptation text, it is quite convenient to include the 
reader to this equation.  
Hereunder, if the process of adaptation is capable of changing the source text, and the 
reader/audience/player is involved in the transformation and interpretation part of this process 
as well as the reception part of it, then, it is possible to say that the dialectic between the original 
and the adapted text is far from being exclusive towards the reader.  
Adaptation is, after all, a manifestation of interpretation, and adaptation as interpretation, in 
fact, is a concept that is thoroughly focused on in Joy Gould Boyum’s refined work on 
adaptation theory. Boyum suggests that film adaptations fulfill an audience’s “desire to see the 
novel embodied” (52). Similar to the motivation driving a filmmaker, this desire, she argues, 
is rooted in an urge for shared interpretation. Boyum asserts that a film “has no independent 
life of its own” (53). As further stated by Boyum, “the movie we describe... is identical with 
the movie we have experienced” (54). So then, the interpretation of a text is the text itself; 
second without being secondary.  
Boyum’s statement that a film “comes into being as a cooperative venture between a viewer 
and the lights, shadows, and sounds set before him” (54) may easily be applied to the case of 
Geralt, suggesting that his existence and the significance of his identity relies on a 
“personalization of response” (56). This highlights the reader’s role in adaptation as an act of 
interpretation, a viewpoint echoed by John Bryant’s assertion that “adaptation is an act of 
 63
 
interpretation” (Bryant 49). In the light of these ideas, video games become more relevant as 
literary mediums.  
 
Video Games as Literature & Adaptation 
 It is quite evident from the history of video games that literature plays an important part 
in creating the story of a video game. Video games are, after all, visual and interactive novels 
or stories that practically and literally enable its audience to engage and experience the story 
by becoming active agents of the narrative as players. Naiara Sales Araujo carries this idea one 
step further by stating that, “If it is true that the game industry has benefited from the literary 
narratives as an inspiration source, it is also true that games have been inspiring writers from 
around the world to construct their literary narratives” (229). So, literature inspires, and shapes 
video games and video games inspire and shape literature. What, then, can we say about the 
reader and the player, in short, the audience’s position, function and role in this reciprocity? If 
literature and video games have an interactive, mutual relationship of reciprocity, then the 
audience may easily have a part in interaction as well. In fact, it could be said that there is not 
a form of art or literature more convenient, relevant and functional in proving the agency and 
activity of the audience in shaping the structure and narrativity of a work of art or literature 
than the video game itself. 
  If video games are literature, then the video game narratives and the structure of these 
narratives as spheres with great potential for a strong communication and interaction between 
the reader/player/audience and the text/game/story becomes inevitably clear. This, in the end, 
is one of the key aspects of Geralt of Rivia’s journey of adaptation, evolution, transformation 
and growth through mediums.  
In the next section, we will delve into the reader’s interpretative and receptive interaction with 
text and character, and their role in the adaptation and evolutionary process. 
 
The Reader’s Agency in Shaping Geralt of Rivia  
The reader’s agency in constructing the meaning and identity of a text and a character is 
obviously a matter of a reader-oriented criticism. Despite a scholarship quite rich and complex 
on its own, we shall only briefly touch upon the definition and function of reader-response 
theory in specific relation to the scope of adaptation and character evolution studies. 
 
Reader-response theory suggests that the interaction between the reader and the text is what 
creates the meaning and identity of a text (Mart 2). In that case, a work of literature is often a 
result of a process, a creative process at that, of reading and interpretation. Through the act of 
reading, the reader explores the meaning of a narrative and the significance of a character, and 
thus shape that narrative and character according to his or her conception that is activated by 
the act of reading. Thus, the reader experiences the narrative and the character and in return, 
the reader’s experience becomes part of the narrative and the character as well. As Mart 
suggests, “The reader response approach is based on the assumption that a literary work takes 
place in a mutual relationship between the reader and the text when the reader demystifies 
literature and links it to his/her individual experience” (5). It is this demystification effect or 
practice that creates the sphere of growth, evolution and meaning for a work of art and 
literature, as well as a fictional character. In fact, according to this theory, the text itself does 
not signify much of a meaning, for, “by privileging them as experience builders in attempting 
to construct meaning, reader response theory considers readers as active agents who deal with 
the creation of meaning” (Mart 8). Indeed, the text itself cannot move on its own. It is the reader 
who moves the text through interaction and transaction of mutuality. As literature or the text 
“provides a special form of communication” (Rosenblatt 3), the meaning of the text, as well as 
 64
 
the identity of a character in relation to this, are the results and achievements of this 
communication and negotiation.  
Lois Tyson makes a similar claim as to the common ground where all reader-response theorists 
meet:  
 
For despite their divergent views of the reading process… reader-response theorists share two 
beliefs: (1) that the role of the reader cannot be omitted from our understanding of literature 
and (2) that readers do not passively consume the meaning presented to them by an objective 
literary text; rather they actively make the meaning they find in literature” (170). 
 
Following this, it may be stated that while the reader uses his agency to read and thus construct 
the meaning and identity of a text and a character, the practice of adaptation as interpretation 
may in turn be seen as yet another form of reader-hood or act of readership, where the meaning 
and identity of a text and a character is interpreted, reimagined and recreated into another and 
new form of text. What adaptation as a branching form of readership adds to the endless process 
of reading and reimagining is that it makes it possible for the production of a tangible, physical 
product of the agency of the reader.  
 
The Character Arc 
 
Analyzing Geralt’s character evolution requires recognizing the stages he undergoes in each 
adaptation. Joseph Campbell’s seventeen-stage “Hero's Journey” or monomyth provides a 
useful template for categorizing these stages. These stages encompass the hero’s “Departure, 
Initiation and Return” and include events such as the “Call to Adventure," “Supernatural Aid," 
and “The Crossing of the First Threshold,” among others (4-5). 
 
For this analysis, we will focus on Geralt’s “Call to Adventure,” as this is a common 
introductory element in most of The Witcher adaptations. As Sara Letourneau highlights, a 
character arc or evolution signifies the inner journey a character embarks on throughout the 
story, resulting in significant change or growth (1). Geralt’s character arc, therefore, involves 
numerous inner journeys which vary across adaptations. 
 
The concept of character arc and evolution helps to assess Geralt’s character in each adaptation. 
However, while Letourneau's evolution occurs within a single narrative timeline, this analysis 
observes Geralt’s evolution across different mediums. For our purposes, we will primarily 
consider the introductory stages or “Trigger” and “Comfort Zone (Act I)” of Geralt’s character 
arc in each adaptation. 
 
Who is Geralt of Rivia? 
 
Geralt of Rivia, the main character of The Witcher series, first comes to be as a literary 
character, an anti-hero who stands on the grounds of grey rather than those of black and white. 
A mutant, a hybrid form of creature who carries both human and non-human qualities, Geralt 
of Rivia is an expert killer, a hunter who makes money from killing monsters – both human 
and creature. Anna Michalska, describes witchers as “mostly white-haired half-men half-
mutants are professionals whose job is to kill monsters. Usually homeless and alone, they 
wander through different lands in hope of receiving commissions and finding creatures to slay” 
(Michalska 15). According to this, then, Geralt of Rivia travels in a fantastical world, filled 
with all sorts of creatures, monsters, non-humans and of course, a huge number of humans. 
Living a nomadic life, he kills the monsters through the contracts that bind him to his customers 
 65
 
and his customers to him. Even though his job description and the nature of his being as a 
hybrid seem to offer a simple and clear depiction, Geralt of Rivia is far from being a simple 
character and the way he conducts his profession is far from being simple for him. In her book, 
Michalska points out this dilemma or hardship as an essential part of Geralt (20).   
 
Geralt of Rivia is a discreet, stubborn, an inwardly judgmental man, and at times, he is cruel, 
coldblooded and intimidating. However, he is motivated by certain moral codes which detract 
him from the category of the evil. As Gawroński & Bajorek assert, “The witcher is a warrior, 
a loner, a mysterious figure, with a specific code of honor derived from belonging to a 
brotherhood” (Gawroński & Bajorek 3). He may be an expert on killing monsters, however, it 
would not be wrong to state that the way he categorizes “monsters” is quite different from 
being a one-sided comprehension which gives way to the favoring of one community over 
another. In other words, it is often seen that Geralt kills humans, or rather, “human shaped 
monsters,” since in his perspective, humans are just as much a species of monsters as non-
humans, which is a remark that is embraced by very few persons in the novels and it is 
definitely not embraced by the community of humans. As Michalska supportively suggests in 
her book, Geralt neither belongs nor is completely detached from the society (16). 
 
And so, the very initial and introductory chapter of the first novel of The Witcher series, The 
Last Wish, is indeed a landmark; a peculiar looking, white-haired man, who is strong and 
intimidating, who in all aspects is an uncanny figure, who evokes a sense of restlessness and 
aggression in the ordinary citizens: this is the image of the original and literary character of 
Geralt of Rivia. 
 
Geralt of Rivia Through Mediums 
The Hexer (2001) dir. Marek Brodzki 
 
The 2001 film adaption The Hexer marks the first adaptation and hence the first stage of 
progression or transformation in Geralt’s character. The introduction of Geralt in this film 
differs significantly from the book; rather than sticking to the original introduction chapter of 
Geralt of Rivia, in which he is depicted as the mysterious occult man who walks into an 
ordinary and mundane environment full of ordinary people, causing distress and aggression 
among human beings, The Hexer introduces Geralt in his childhood. In other words, rather than 
presenting an introductory scene focusing on the affect Geralt creates on ordinary human 
beings, the audience is presented with the childhood of the character, which is a phase in the 
character’s life that is often endorsed as a mystery to be revealed later on in the original 
text. The scene shown to the audience displays Geralt acquiring his notably white hair. The 
audience then watches Geralt’s development from childhood to maturity through extremely 
brief vignettes. This is an intriguing interpretation of Geralt’s origins, given his childhood is 
one of the most mysterious aspects of his character. This is the time when he is subjected to 
various trials and experiments in order to be transformed into a mutant, a “witcher”; thus, the 
way his childhood is depicted is one of the aspects of his character that makes him human, 
which is not something we typically associate with the image of Geralt.  
 
 
 
 
 
The Witcher (2007), The Witcher 2 (2011), The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt (2015) (CD Project 
Red) 
 66
 
 
The next medium in Geralt’s development is the game adaptations of The Witcher developed 
by CD Projekt Red, more specifically, the game trilogy adaptation of The Witcher series, which 
was released in 2007, 2011, and 2015.  
 
The first Witcher game introduces Geralt in quite a direct manner of narration. The audience 
hears the sentence, “His name was Geralt of Rivia,” (0:04) and immediately, the screen reflects 
a pair of eyes, the eyes of Geralt, significantly cat-like and as infamous as his white hair. “He 
was a Witcher,” (0:04) continues the narrator, “A professional monster slayer. An unusual 
contract to lift the curse that held a monarch’s daughter. It was enough to spend the night with 
the princess. Dusk till dawn. If only she were not a deadly beast. A striga” (0:23). All 
throughout this introductory narration, the audience sees Geralt preparing himself in his 
significantly familiar cool and careful manner. This opening and introduction, quite different 
from the introduction that is presented in The Hexer (2001) and more faithful to the original 
literary series, creates an immediate sense of recognition. The audience is familiar with this 
beginning; it shows parallelism with the beginning of the original text of The Witcher. 
However, in this version of the introduction of Geralt, he is not presented through the 
perspectives of those who are afraid of him within the narrative, but rather, he is presented as 
a hero, or an anti-hero, as the kind of character who is embraced as by the audience, as a 
character who is rejoining with those who are familiar with him and his story. His hybrid 
qualities are also emphasized here when he drinks an “enhancement” potion, which is similar 
to The Hexer in terms of presenting the mutant aspect of his bodily existence.  
 
The second Witcher game, before introducing Geralt, begins with a quotation from a book that 
is a reference to one of the many fictional sources Andrzej Sapkowski creates and quotes from 
as chapter initiators in the literary series, which is quite intriguing in terms of the extent of 
fidelity the game series show in relation to the book series. Even in structure, let alone the 
presentation of Geralt’s character, the game series may easily be considered as considerably 
faithful to the book series. Moving on to the introduction of Geralt, he is introduced with a 
scene of his own escape, from whom, from where, to where, all of these questions are 
ambiguous. His physical appearance is still the same, with his white hair and yellow cat-eyes, 
although, his facial features and complexion seem to have gained detail, which is easily an 
indication of a deeper inspection and interpretation of his character and image along with the 
advancing video game technology. There Geralt is, once more, in another adaptation, running 
away or right into trouble; even though the subject changes from one medium to another, Geralt 
is always represented as a character who is in constant motion.  
 
The final game in the series, The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt introduces Geralt in perhaps the most 
relevant fashion in terms of his position in the gray area of moral stance as an anti-hero. The 
first scene the audience sees Geralt is when he and Vesemir (a fellow Witcher and Geralt’s 
mentor) are on their way to collect the reward for their contract. As they approach to their 
employers, they witness a scene where a woman is being beaten to death for her alleged crimes 
of witchcraft by those who employ Geralt and Vesemir. It is important to point out that, even 
though it is quite hard to tell who these two men are, with dark cloaks over their shoulders and 
hoods over their heads, the audience has enough information and familiarity with the structure 
of the ever-present and ongoing story of the Witcher and its tradition of introduction through 
mediums to recognize these two men as Geralt and Vesemir. Vesemir says, “Don’t meddle. 
Take the reward and let’s go” (0:42). This suggestion immediately problematizes the storyline 
within the framework of the scene. Vesemir speaks through the perspective of the practicality 
of Witcherhood. Geralt, on the other hand, who is always shown as a character incompatible 
 67
 
for the order and sociality of humanity, even though a very capable and competent Witcher, 
does not even fit into the categories of being a Witcher. So, when he does not listen to Vesemir, 
and actually meddles with the scene, it is not solely because of his multilayered character 
residing on the gray area, but also because of his perfectly and equably patterned outcast 
identity. It is this outcast identity, this isolated, and at times, lonely experience of existence that 
creates the space of recognition and communication between the Geralt and the 
reader/audience/player, which ultimately serves to the transformation and evolution of the 
character of Geralt. As it is mentioned above, just as Geralt seems to be walking away from 
the scene, his voice, which is a distinct and signature aspect of his character that comes to being 
through the game adaptations, speaks: “Evil is evil. Lesser, greater, middling… Makes no 
difference. The degree is arbitrary. The definition is blurred. If I’m to choose between one evil 
and another, I’d rather not choose at all” (1:10). This is a quotation that is directly taken from 
the book series and a philosophy that is expressed by Geralt both in the books and in the games 
in repetition. Here, even though Geralt states that he “would rather not choose at all,” it is quite 
clear that he is about to choose between one evil and another, in accordance with his own moral 
codes – and, with the players’ moral codes as well. In this sense, in the experience of the 
gameplay of the narrative and Geralt’s character, this choice, this given moral code is open to 
change and transformation of course.  
 
In many ways, this scene manifests Geralt in the most faithful way in terms of faithfulness to 
Geralt’s character in the book series. Upon slaughtering the men who were about to kill the 
woman to death, Geralt approaches to the last man alive in order to end his life. The man asks, 
“What are you doing?” (2:02) to which Geralt replies, “Killing monsters” (2:03). This is the 
epitome of Geralt’s character evolution as an extension from a literary medium to a graphic 
and visual medium, from the book series to the video game series. Geralt of Rivia, as the 
morally grey anti-hero of the narrative, in spite of displaying certain and slight changes in terms 
of his physical appearance or the way he is introduced, perseveres, and more importantly, he 
does so through the influence and contribution of his audience, of the video game players, of 
the readers.  
 
The Witcher (2019), the Netflix Series 
 
Finally, the Netflix series of The Witcher (2019) introduces Geralt in the thick of slaying a 
monster, which is again, quite a conventional way to introduce Geralt. It ought to be stated that 
this contemporary presentation of Geralt, who has, at this point, become quite popular amongst 
the video game scene and also the fantasy literature community thanks to the video game 
productions, is quite significant for the fact that it is portrayed by an actor who is himself quite 
popular for playing many popular culture characters, Superman being in the first place. The 
familiar face of Henry Cavill meets with the familiar character and image of Geralt of Rivia, 
presenting, again, quite a familiar scene of Geralt slaying a monster with a focus, again in a 
similar way, on Geralt’s white hair, signature cat-eyes and his wonted style. Even Geralt’s 
infamous horse, Roach, who walks back from the scene of battle in a nervous manner, is 
depicted in a familiar fashion as the timid animal it is. Every aspect of this introduction of 
Geralt in the Netflix adaptation is as familiar as it can be.  
 
After killing the monster, Geralt approaches to a gazelle that is hurt because of the struggle that 
takes place between the Witcher and the monster. “Today isn’t your lucky day, is it?” 
(00:01:54) says Geralt, to the gazelle and the introduction scene turns black with the auditory 
indication of him killing the gazelle.  
 
 68
 
The conclusion of this introduction scene, when considered in the light of all the tradition of 
adaptations that forms and makes up Geralt, seems to suggest that even though there are times 
Geralt meddles with matters in which he saves innocent people and even monsters from whom 
he considers as real monsters, he is not a saint of some sort who travels around saving innocent 
lives. At very basic level, he is a practical man who lives to eat his fill and he manages to do 
so by earning money from killing monsters. It might be important to note that, however, in this 
case, the gazelle is hurt from its encounter with the monster, and it seems as though Geralt kills 
it after he sees and understands that the gazelle is unlikely to survive the injury. Be that as it 
may, even though Geralt kills monsters, when circumstances arise, he does not hesitate to kill 
an animal for his own benefit, rather than trying to save it or heal it.  
 
This kind of introduction and depiction of Geralt offers almost an eclectic presentation of 
Geralt the character of whom, through a tradition of interpretation that expands to a 20-year-
period, evolves into being the embodiment of contradictions and morally gray tendencies. In 
relation to the Netflix adaptation, Gawroński & Bajorek says:  
 
Above all, it perfectly reflects the character of the main character that fights for survival in a 
world that hates him and stubbornly adheres to the moral code developed by his guild, which 
forces him to make dangerous decisions. The witcher is rough and sarcastic, always ready to 
fight, but on the other hand, charming and enchanting (Gawroński & Bajorek 5). 
 
 In many ways, the introduction scene of Geralt in the contemporary adaptation of The Witcher 
is one that is carefully dedicated to the original literary series and thus, indeed, to the game 
adaptations which are also veraciously dedicated to the book series, in the utmost faithful 
manner.  
The Space Where Geralt and the Reader Interacts 
 
All of the adaptations that are mentioned above seem to suggest that there are some common 
elements that bring all the Witcher adaptations together but there are also those which separate 
these adaptations in quite distinct and clear terms. Geralt’s character seems to be stretching 
upon this tradition of adaptation carrying both of these common and differing elements. 
Geralt’s white hair and his cat-eyes which are the constituents of his mutant nature are reflected 
in the same way in all of the adaptations, and more importantly, these physical qualities, in a 
generally common way, are emphasized in the introduction scene of each Witcher adaptation 
as a way to emphasize the matter of difference between Geralt and humanity, as well as 
pointing at his isolated, lonely nature as a character, as a “lone wolf” if you will. Another 
commonality with regard to the introductory scene in each adaptation of The Witcher may be 
seen as how the exposition is carried out in each introduction part in each medium of 
adaptation. This does not apply to all of the adaptations of The Witcher. However, it would not 
be wrong to claim that a majority of The Witcher introduce Geralt on the verge of or in the 
middle of slaying a monster. So, it is quite clear that the audience is introduced with Geralt in 
each adaptation of The Witcher through the narrative exposition of a battle or struggle that takes 
place between Geralt and a monster, which is almost always followed by a sequence that 
conjuncts the mysterious and extraordinary Geralt with the predictable and ordinary sphere of 
beings and livings. As a hybrid, a mutant, he neither belongs in the world of humanity nor the 
world of the monsters. In that sense, the isolation and loneliness that is associated with his 
character may easily be regarded as one of the central aspects of his character and this aspect, 
far from being erased, transforms into a point of affect that makes Geralt a relatable character 
in the eyes of the audience/reader, and this point of relatability stretching out from the essence 
 69
 
of Geralt’s character as a figure of isolation and loneliness, inevitably creates a space of 
interaction between Geralt and the audience.   
 
In other words, it is the loneliness and isolation associated with Geralt that creates a ground of 
connection with the reader/audience/player. Accordingly, as Geralt transforms and evolves 
through each medium of adaptation, so does the response of the reader/audience/player, and 
likewise, as the response and perception of the reader/audience/player changes and evolves, so 
does the image and significance of Geralt’s character. The response of the 
reader/audience/player, in a certain sense, become more and more personalized in that way, 
and Geralt as a character, too, becomes more and more personalized. 
  
The concept of “personalization of response” is used by Baty to analyze the effects of 
fundamental differences between movies and video games regarding issues of reception and 
response, which is built on the reader/audience/player agency. She concludes that the exclusion 
of the reader from the meaning making process undermines its cultural relevance (3). It is, then, 
the medium of video games that offers a perversion in the conventional narrative structures. 
This perversion, though, is far from connotating a negative meaning and stance, quite the 
contrary and in particular case of the Geralt, it is this “perversion” which manifests Geralt of 
Rivia and generates the intermedia evolution of his character. In line with this, “Once digitized, 
a piece of work is permanently included in the circulation of culture” (Gawroński & Bajorek 
2). In the end, Geralt of Rivia and the story of The Witcher, ceases “to be an exclusively Polish 
(Slavic) cultural product and entered the mainstream global mass culture. This is possible not 
only because of the translations of Sapkowski’s books into other languages, but due to 
multimedia adaptations of ‘The Witcher’” (Gawroński & Bajorek 3), the adaptations, by all 
means, invent audience-based narrative structures, consider reader/audience/player response in 
making meaning, and creating stories that comes to being through this very element of 
contribution and interaction as basis of adaptation as interpretation.  
 
Conclusion 
 
In conclusion, when considered in comparison, while the literary series, the films and the TV 
show adaptation seem to show a lesser image of a “personalization of response” born out of 
the interaction between the reader and the text, the video games seem to be the medium in 
which such an interaction is achieved in active function. As Baty wisely said, “Audiences 
watch stories, while gamers make them,” (26) and this may easily be seen as the conclusive 
peak point of the matter of the agency of the player, who is none other than the audience, who 
is none other than the reader. Geralt is what we make of him; he is a spectrum of interpretations 
and responses that presence him, and in a constant and never-ending motion of growth and 
transformation, he evolves into being a representative of all those who read, watch and play 
him. Geralt of Rivia, after all, evolves to become us.  
 
 
 
 
 
 
Works Cited 
Araújo, Naiara. (2017). Literature and Videogames: Adaptation and Reciprocity. Revista 
Letras Raras, 6, 222. DOI: 10.35572/rlr.v6i3.872. 
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Barthes, R. (1977). The Death of the Author (S. Heath, Trans.). In Image, Music, Text (pp. 
142-148). London: Fontana. 
Baty, Sydney K. (2020). "The Art of the Game: Issues in Adapting Video Games". 
Dissertations, Theses, and Student Research: Department of English, 167. 
Benjamin, W. (2008). The work of art in the age of mechanical reproduction (J. A. 
Underwood, Trans.). Penguin Books. 
Boyum, Joy Gould. (1989). “The Viewer as Reader: Varieties of Interpretation.” Double 
Exposure: Fiction into Film, Seagull Books, pp. 51–73. 
Bruhn, J., Gjelsvik, A., & Frisvold Hanssen, E. (Eds.). (2013). Adaptation Studies: New 
Challenges, New Directions (pp. 2-50). London: Bloomsbury Academic. 
Campbell, J. (2012). The hero with a thousand faces (3rd ed.). New World Library. 
Gawroński, Sławomir & Bajorek, Kinga. “A Real Witcher—Slavic or Universal; from a 
Book, a Game or a TV Series? In the Circle of Multimedia Adaptations of a Fantasy Series of 
Novels “The Witcher” by A. Sapkowski”. Faculty of Media and Social Communication, 
University of Information Technology and Management, 35-225 Rzeszów, Poland; 
kbajorek@wsiz.rzeszow.pl 
Hutcheon, Linda. (2006). A Theory of Adaptation. New York: Routledge. 
Letourneau, Sara. (2016, August 25). “The Character Evolution Files, No. 1: What Is 
Character Evolution, and Why Is It Important?” Sara Letourneau. Retrieved from: 
https://cutt.ly/jvKgpPr. 
Mart, Cagri. (2019). Reader-Response Theory and Literature Discussions: a Springboard for 
Exploring Literary Texts. The New Educational Review, 56. DOI: 
10.15804/tner.2019.56.2.06. 
Michalska, Anna. (2020). “Otherness and Intertextuality in The Witcher. The Duality of 
Experiencing Andrzej Sapkowski’s Universe” (MA Thesis). Literature Today: English and 
Comparative Literature, Utrecht University. 
Rosenblatt, L. M. (1960). Literature: The Reader's Role. The English Journal, 49(5), 304-
310+315-316. 
Tompkins, J. P. (1980). Reader-Response Criticism: From Formalism to Post-Structuralism. 
Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. 
Tyson, L. (2014). Critical theory today (3rd ed.). Routledge. 
Verrone, W. (2011). Adaptation and the Avant-Garde (pp. 16-33). New York: Continuum. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 71
 
UNVEILING UMUOFIAN CLAN'S CULTURE FROM A STRUCTURALIST POINT OF VIEW 
Gökhan Alyan 
Things Fall Apart has reached to a place where one cannot pass without mentioning its 
name in a conversation related to African style of writing. Chinua Achebe created a narrator 
who somehow happened to praise Okonkwo and his achievements from the beginning of the 
novel, whereas he left the decision of judging his personality to the readers. Although the way 
Achebe described events is not much of an English way, he used English-a western language-
to uncover a hidden way of living in an African society with a structure different from that of 
western literature. Chinua Achebe used a structure that helped him use fewer words than a 
normal western writer to describe what idea or point to be told in a more direct and simple way. 
Through this manner, he not only depicted a distinctive pattern of writing, but he also portrayed 
an undiscovered primitive culture that many would be interested in reading. Okonkwo, the 
main character, leads the readers to a deep but simple world where they will soon find out if he 
really is the protagonist or the antagonist. He obviously is the leader of the clan, however, as 
one of his main intentions is to protect his clan, he eventually happens to harm his community 
as well. Is he dangerous to himself or does he threaten the author? This paper will discuss how 
Okonkwo, as the representative of his ethos, killed Chinua Achebe using structured cultural 
weapons in the shade of how the literary work became a text despite the sparing language of 
the novel. 
Chinua Achebe created a pattern in Things Fall Apart, which is formed with many 
different small pieces combined. The first thing to take into consideration is that every piece 
which is a part of the bigger narrative has its own pattern and follows the steps of the pattern. 
In the book, Achebe divides folktales into two: one is for young children and the other is for 
relatively older children. The stories Nwoye's mother used to tell are now considered useless 
and childish whereas Okonkwo's stories are more for strong men as one day he “… encouraged 
the boys to sit with him in his obi, and he told them stories of the land-masculine stories of 
violence and bloodshed” (Achebe 53). Obviously, on one hand, there are folktales that include 
tortoises and birds, which children would love to listen to, on the other hand, there are stories 
Okonkwo would rather have his children listen to, because he wants his kids to be just like him: 
full of passion for fame, war and competition. He would kill to listen to his son's epic stories 
in the battlefield someday. Not only does the work have folktales, but it also includes various 
small patterns such as plotlines, songs, sayings, etc.  
The plotline of every event has the same structure until the white man appears in chapter 
15. Before that, the plotline is circular; the events happen in Umuofia and are solved by elders 
in Umuofia, and when someone commits a crime, s/he receives the proper punishment 
according to the traditions and religion. The circularity of the first part is presented through the 
rituals such as marriages and funerals, the issue of fame, the various festivals, agriculture, etc. 
All these matters are repeated until the white man appears for the first time. However, things 
change and the structure of the events changes as well with the arrival of the white man, because 
there happen two different patterns in the same place where one cannot function completely 
free from the other. That is why, in the second half of the novel, as stated in the article called 
“Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart”: “…with the arrival of the white man, and his 
chirographic (literate) culture, the narrative loses much of its circularity, and the linear 
progression of the plot becomes much more dominant in the final two parts of the novel 
(Whittaker and Msisika 30)”. 
 72
 
The interruption of the new faith and culture, now, underlines a complication with a 
linear structure in the novel. For it is obvious that after the first white man, who has had an 
"iron horse," is killed by the people of Abame, the unpleasant events keep coming onto the 
Umuofian clan until they finally have to yield after having experienced humiliation many 
times. That is, on one hand, the first incident becomes more and more significant and 
complicated as time passes with the newcomers, on the other hand, the very first event led to 
more and more problems in only a short time. And now, the plot structure of the book has lost 
its circularity and has entered into a linear structure where things grow wider, depending on 
one important issue with strangers. 
The Umuofian clan has a leader to rule, an oracle to guide, songs and dance to entertain, 
and sayings to instruct the community. In modern culture, societies have educated people to 
guide and science to instruct the public. The only similarity between Umuofian society and 
modern society is that both have leaders and they have the same sense of entertainment. Other 
than that, as clearly depicted in the novel, the structure of the way Umuofians live has not yet 
evolved. People of Umuofia have had a circular pattern taken from their ancestors, and they 
are keen to keep it going precisely the same way they took from their fathers. Each of these 
little elements has a duty to construct a larger system where people feel secure to sustain their 
lives. Besides, they form a complete narrative despite the non-ornamented language.  
Chinua Achebe's use of language is as of the style that imagists used in the early 20th 
century. The reason to say that is because Imagists approached the use of language as only a 
tool to express what is to be transferred, they believe that language need not be long and fancied 
with extraordinary expressions, phrases, and words. To them, one must tell a lot with fewer 
words, since there will not be less of the actual meaning out of a sentence or a paragraph when 
one uses exaggerated descriptions; the point is to express the incident without useless 
circumlocutions and unnecessary hyperbolic phrases because it is possible and easier to make 
a point with a shorter description. From a structuralist perspective, it is reasonable to say for 
instance, "egwugwu" instead of explaining what it means or stands for in the society each time 
mentioned. It is more suitable to attract the attention of the readers to the mindsets of the clan 
with the original words. At first, the readers cannot figure out what the signifier "egwugwu" 
represents, yet they will understand the concept of the utterance when they adopt the structure 
of African culture. On this matter, as suggested in Mythologies: “That which is a sign (namely 
the associative total of a concept and an image) in the first system, becomes a mere signifier in 
the second” (Barthes 113). That is why, Achebe used the word in order for the readers to first 
figure out what kind of a concept the signifier creates, then to focus on the connotation of the 
signified, which is a special dance to be performed on especially private occasions only in an 
African society.  
In his narrative, showing similarity to that of Imagists’ use of language, Achebe paid a 
great deal of attention to the economy of words. He did not follow a European narrative style 
which includes irrelevant chit-chats, that usually shadow the meaning. He, however, used more 
of an African style of narrative to demonstrate what has been hidden in a land far from Europe 
in a more direct and simple way. Emmanuel Obiechina makes a wonderful statement in his 
article “Structure and Significance in Achebe's Things Fall Apart”: “There is in his writing an 
absolute economy in the use of words to describe particular incidents or to convey certain 
impressions which propel the narrative and add immensely to the reader's perception of a 
wholly conceived action” (Obiechina 3). While having focused on the structure of the language, 
I must not pass without explicating the most shocking descriptions in the novel. The pity and 
fear of deaths in the story are left to the readers to utter at any level they mind since Achebe 
 73
 
avoided using long descriptions and details. He clearly does not want to have an unnecessary 
influence on the readers, yet he wants them to sympathize with the culture on their own. An 
author would normally describe the deaths of those in the book in a more exciting way to 
conduct a destructive emotional scene in front of the readers to make them feel terrified. The 
death of Ikemefuna, for instance, must cause an enormous breakdown, disappointment as well 
as an irresistible fury towards Okonkwo. Nevertheless, Chinua Achebe decides to leave all 
those feelings to the readers and follows a basic pattern while describing the moment of killing 
and afterwards. He narrates the extraordinary events in an unvarnished style by saving up the 
words because an African tribe is used to those events and as explained before, he would like 
his readers to adopt an African way of perceiving while reading the novel. This is not only 
about the structure of the text, but it is also about the way African folktales had been told. The 
structure of an oral narrative of a tribe has been reduced to writing on paper. The only thing 
that has changed is time; the culture has been in a vicious circle-encompassing Umuofians' 
ancestors-for centuries. The reason for focusing on the culture besides the language is that a 
culture has got a certain pattern and is closely related to the language system as stated in 
Beginning Theory: An Introduction to Literary and Cultural Theory: “A signifying system in 
this sense is a very wide concept: it means any organized and structured set of signs which 
carries cultural meanings” (Barry 48) and "For the structuralist, the culture we are part of can 
be 'read' like a language, using these principles, since culture is made up of many structural 
networks which carry significance and can be shown to operate in a systematic way” (48). 
It will not be a bizarre metaphor to consider Okonkwo himself as the embodiment of 
the clan's culture in the sense that he was praised by the narrator Achebe created. In a structure 
of a culture, a writer can be a perfect example of how to be an influential figure over the human 
mind. The structure of the traditions in the Ibo society would be interpreted objectively and 
maybe even praised if it stood untouched. However, Achebe's narrator, that is obviously an 
Umuofian narrator, interferes with the objectivity of the structure by focusing only on the 
positive qualifications Okonkwo possesses although the author's intention is undoubtedly to 
encourage the readers to think like an Umuofian while reading the story so as to understand 
how the system of the tribe functions. In the following examples from the novel, the intention 
of the narrator is clarified: “Fortunately, among these people a man was judged according to 
his worth and not according to the worth of his father, Okonkwo was clearly cut out for great 
things” (Achebe 12) and  
If ever a man deserved his success, that man was Okonkwo. At an early age he had 
achieved fame as the greatest wrestler in all the land. That was not luck. At the most 
one could say that his chi or personal god was good. But the lbo people have a proverb 
that when a man says yes his chi says yes also. Okonkwo said yes very strongly; so his 
chi agreed. (29, 30)  
Supported by the strong adjectives used in the story, one can infer from the lines above that the 
narrator is with Okonkwo. The idea is proved not only when he emphasizes how worthy the 
Ibo community is by focusing on the strengths of Okonkwo, but he also disregarded the 
weaknesses of the society, which we all would agree that they are essential to be mentioned in 
order to develop a realistic, objective structure of a culture. The circular pattern of the culture 
is now understood that it includes self-praise as well. Achebe surely underestimated the fact 
that no matter how much a reader adopts the Umuofian pattern, s/he will eventually realize the 
tragic flaw of Okonkwo, who, on one hand, unplugged the damaged system of his clan's faith 
and traditions with his own bare hands by beating one of his wives during the "Week of Peace," 
by killing Ikemefuna, Ogbuefi Ezeudu, the chief messenger and finally himself. On the other 
 74
 
hand, in the meantime, he happened to slowly hand in what he cared about the most to the 
strangers: the fully functioning traditions he inherited from his own ancestors. Therefore, 
Achebe's attempt to provoke the readers to think of themselves as members of that society 
collapsed. The opening of the book and all the commendations Okonkwo received from the 
narrator are, in the end, realized to be pseudo-praising and hopelessly artificial. 
  Having accepted Okonkwo as the image of Umuofian culture, it is now time to discuss 
how Okonkwo led his clan to a tremendous breakdown with his obsessive fear of failure. He 
started the destruction with the smallest part: killing Ikemefuna. It is the smallest phase because 
Ikemefuna is not from their Village, nor is he a member of the family though it is obvious that 
Ikemefuna calls Okonkwo father. Since one is most hurt by his/her loved one, poor Ikemefuna 
receives the last stroke by the one now he loves most. Okonkwo starts to blow down the whole 
long-lasted structure of the clan by this very occasion for the sake of not being labeled as weak. 
When he does that, he pulls the first wooden block of a table game called Jenga, which 
foreshadows the total collapse of the entire structure eventually. Thus, Okonkwo’s failure to 
face his fear has started. It is the easiest claim to admit that the white men are the breaker of 
the culture because they have arrived at Umuofia and have claimed land and offered to live 
among them, although they want Umuofians to be converted to Christianity. Even so, this 
shows how fragile the society is, as well as Okonkwo. Yet, if the blocks of Jenga were placed 
well enough in the first place, it wouldn’t be so easy for anyone to harm it. Having accepted 
the help of the missionaries unwillingly, Okonkwo avoids everything that might harm his 
reputation in 9 villages. What the missionaries want is to keep the clan under control. That is 
why, they are served well by Okonkwo in the end, because chaos is best handled by the most 
intelligent party. One other block pulled from the game by Okonkwo is the event where he 
beats his wife in the “Week of Peace”. This is the second least important block because he 
keeps the violation inside the family for now. He carries the violence of the events to the next 
level through the end of the novel. Okonkwo is the fire itself that he acknowledges in Chapters 
17 and 24. It grows bigger as time passes and it is fed by more wood just like the way Okonkwo 
cannot get enough of killing, beating, humiliating and insulting. Surely, Okonkwo does not 
realise how dangerous his title “Roaring Flame” means. If he did, he would definitely draw a 
line to stop at. Flame destroys everything it consumes and Okonkwo destroyed the community 
he belonged to, starting with what was the least important for him, and finishing the destruction 
with what he cared about the most, that is, his culture. To sum up, Okonkwo, with his irresistible 
intimidation of failure, pulls all the important blocks and causes the demolition of his clan by 
committing suicide. It is now someone else’s job to build a new structure on the same land with 
the same people living on it.  
           One other element to keep in mind is the plotline of the novel. As Achebe followed a 
simple structure and an intelligible language, one can easily relate the plotline of the story to 
the one Tzvetan Todorov explains in his essay “Structural Analysis of Narrative” with Arnold 
Weinstein: 
The minimal complete plot can be seen as the shift from one equilibrium to another. 
This term "equilibrium," which I am borrowing from genetic psychology, means the 
existence of a stable but not static relation between the members of a society; it is a 
social law, a rule of the game, a particular system of exchange. The two moments of 
equilibrium, similar and different, are separated by a period of imbalance, which is 
composed of a process of degeneration and a process of improvement (Todorov and 
Weinstein 7). 
 75
 
To put it bluntly, Achebe wrote the novel in the structure that Todorov explained. The first part 
of the novel displays a happy start where the narrator praises Okonkwo after he won the fight 
with Amalinze the Cat, and that is “equilibrium”. With the victory, Umuofia becomes more 
famous in the area, which is a source of happiness for the villagers. In the second part of the 
novel, a problem happens and disrupts the happiness of the village, which is clearly Okonkwo’s 
cruel life-taking hit on Ikemefuna. Certainly, this is only the beginning of an unpleasant future; 
it is followed by beating and more killings. The third part is when the villagers realise the chaos 
after a court messenger’s death. At this point, they expect to lose something, as they are afraid 
of an unknown picture that includes both human beings and culture with a new faith. While the 
issues get more and more important in the clan, the people of Umuofia attempt to repair the 
damage, as it is the fourth part Todorov mentions. In the final part of the plotline, Okonkwo 
commits suicide, then a new equilibrium settles. Things have been complicated for Umuofians 
lately, but new normality is set by the commissioners.  
           To approach the novel as a text, it is essential to accept it as an open-ended piece of 
writing as the novel is the representation of the Igbo community regardless of the author. 
Because Chinua Achebe entered his own death after creating his most voiced character 
Okonkwo. As Roland Barthes explains in his essay “The Death of the Author”: “[a]s soon as a 
fact is narrated […] disconnection occurs, the voice loses its origin, the author enters into his 
own death, writing begins” (Barthes 2). It is not crucial in fact to know whose voice it is in 
Things Fall Apart. That is, reading the novel and trying to understand it does not require 
understanding Achebe’s personality reflected, embedded in the text because as Barthes states, 
“linguistically, the author is never more than the instance writing. […] language knows a 
‘subject’, not a ‘person’ (5)”. What the readers must concentrate on is not the way the story has 
been narrated, but what has been narrated. Because the text is no longer in the control of the 
author, or not “tyrannically centered on the author” (3). The readers, now, will make up their 
own stories out of the novel and the author will never be a part of the story. The structure of 
the text will not be circular after this point; every reader will add something from themselves 
and each will be a co-author of the text as stated: “Every text is eternally written here and now” 
(5). However, no one will ever mind how many owners(authors) the book has because the 
existence of the author is already being disregarded by the readers. There is no African way of 
writing in the novel now; every person who reads this work around the globe will turn it into a 
different structure like mentioned before, that it is open-ended.  
           The reason why Achebe has been killed is not only the way he described Igbo culture, 
but it is also the way Okonkwo-accepted as the society itself-grew his anger towards everything 
that does not mean courage and strength. Achebe’s death occurred in Okonkwo’s hands: the 
first stroke he welcomed from Okonkwo is the one Ikemefuna received, and this is followed 
by the deaths of Ogbufi Ezeudu’s son and one of the court messengers. Achebe placed a 
machete into Okonkwo’s hand not knowing that he will eventually be killed by which. From 
the beginning of the novel until the end, Okonkwo carries his machete to cut Achebe’s body 
step by step and he finally makes sure that his creator is dead when he takes his own life.  
           Okonkwo is not only the character that caused Achebe’s death, but he is also the most 
effective character that caused the work to be a text. Because no matter how much Achebe tries 
to uncover a culture that has been introduced falsely by a handful of writers before, it is 
Okonkwo who most supports the plotline of the novel with his stereotypical personality and 
his experiences during his quest until his tragic flaw. Thanks to Okonkwo, what Achebe has 
written becomes a text soon after it is completed. Barthes quotes in his essay “From Work to 
Text”: “…the work itself functions as a general sign, […]. The Text, on the contrary, practices 
the infinite postponement of the signified” (Barthes 7). As a product, Things Fall Apart has an 
 76
 
unchangeable structure and a system consisting of small patterns that later turn into a process 
when the reader takes over the continuation of the story. Because with the death of the author, 
the language owns the story now and whoever reads the signs in the novel is the one in charge 
of the direction of the story. S/he widens the story by adding more wooden blocks, as Barthes’ 
metaphor that describes the text as a tissue, a woven fabric.  
           To conclude, Okonkwo, as the villain-protagonist of the novel, carries all the 
characteristics of the structural patterns of the society; he, himself alone, assigns the fate of the 
clan without questioning his attitudes for once. By not questioning his behaviours, he looks 
forward to experiencing his own demise. This unfortunate demise co-happens with the demise 
of the author Chinua Achebe, which is not unfavourable on Achebe’s side, because Okonkwo’s 
afflictive death causes Achebe’s fame as the protagonist plays a massive role in the process for 
the book to be famous and break out of its chains as a product of an author. From a structuralist 
eye, the fact that Achebe wrote the story using a European language in an African way is highly 
appreciated in the sense that Umuofians’ way of perceiving the world is merely valid for their 
own people; it is that those people are obsessed with the idea of primitive naturalism. The 
concepts the utterances represent are unchangeable and the structure is impenetrable to them. 
As for the structure of the language, it cannot be overlooked that the language has almost the 
same pattern as the culture-as Peter Barry suggests, “culture can be read like a language”-
concerning the circularity and the simplicity. This is exactly what Achebe wanted to do: to 
attract the readers’ attention to the culture, offering them analogous signs with the culture in 
order to stimulate them to feel more into the society, if not too outrageous, to experience the 
culture with the best-representing set of signs. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 77
 
Works Cited 
Achebe, Chinua, Things Fall Apart (First Edition). New York: Anchor Books, e-book ed., 1994. 
Barthes, Roland. “Mythologies.” The Noonday Press - New York Farrar, Straus & 
Gıroux, Translated by Annette Lavers, 1972. 
Barthes, Roland. “The Death of the Author.” Contributions in Philosophy 83 (2001): 3-8.  
 http://sites.tufts.edu/english292b/files/2012/01/Barthes-The-Death-of-the-Author.pdf 
Barry, Peter. “Structuralism”. Beginning theory (fourth edition). Manchester, England:  
 Manchester University Press, 2020. <https://doi.org/10.7765/9781526153524.00007>.  
 Web. 20 Mar. 2022. 
Howard, Richard, translator. From Work to Text. By Roland Barthes, e-book ed., Hill and  
 Wang, 1986.  
 https://www.d.umn.edu/~cstroupe/handouts/8500/barthes_work_to_text.pdf 
Obiechina, Emmanuel. “Structure and Significance in Achebe’s Things Fall Apart.” English 
 in Africa, vol. 2, no. 2, Rhodes University, 1975, pp. 38–44,  
 http://www.jstor.org/stable/40238338. 
Osei-Nyame, Kwadwo. “Chinua Achebe Writing Culture: Representations of Gender and  
 Tradition in ‘Things Fall Apart.’” Research in African Literatures, vol. 30, no. 2,  
 Indiana University Press, 1999, pp. 148–64, http://www.jstor.org/stable/3820564. 
Todorov, Tzvetan, and Arnold Weinstein. “Structural Analysis of Narrative.” NOVEL: A 
Forum on Fiction, vol. 3, no. 1, 1969, pp. 70–76. JSTOR, 
https://doi.org/10.2307/1345003. Accessed 3 Jun. 2022. 
Whittaker, David, and Mpalive-Hangson Msisika “Chinua Achebe's Things Fall Apart.” 
Taylor&Francis Group, Routledge, 8 Nov. 2007,  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 78
 
AN END TO THE ISOLATED HEROES IN DETECTIVE FICTION: THE MALTESE FALCON (1930) 
Mustafa CANLI12 
 
ABSTRACT 
 
The Maltese Falcon is a detective novel written by American novelist Dashiell Hammett in 
1930. The novel has been categorized as a popular hard-boiled detective story and is considered 
one of the foremost pioneers of this subgenre of detective fiction, along with the novels of 
Raymond Chandler. In this study, I present the novel The Maltese Falcon by American author 
Dashiell Hammett in light of popular and detective fiction criticisms. The new subjects, 
concepts, characters, and social analysis which the novel starts in detective fiction are my 
subject matter. Firstly, I argue that The Maltese Falcon fits into most of the formulaic concepts 
of popular fiction and detective fiction, except that it carries the features of a new genre called 
the American hard-boiled detective story. I apply the parameters of critics like McCracken and 
Smith on popular and hard-boiled fiction to the novel. I analyze the story’s themes, the 
protagonist, and the detective’s features and see if these parallel the formulaic nature of the 
popular detective genre. Secondly, I list the inventions and discoveries of Hammett and 
Chandler in the popular detective fiction genre. Thirdly, I try to determine the differences and 
similarities between the novel from the Golden Age popular detective fiction in the UK, 
represented by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie. I compare the formulaic structures 
of their novels and the features of detective, sidekick, victim, murderer, and violence treatment 
and detection process. In conclusion, I sum up the result that The Maltese Falcon pioneered a 
new genre called hard-boiled with its new subject matter, setting, detective, and detection 
process in the modern world of the 1930s US. 
 
Keywords: Popular fiction, Detective fiction, The Maltese Falcon, Hard-boiled 
 
Introduction 
The Maltese Falcon is a detective novel written by American novelist Dashiell 
Hammett in 1930. The novel has been categorized as a famous hard-boiled detective story and 
is considered one of the foremost pioneers of this subgenre of detective fiction, along with the 
novels of Raymond Chandler (McCracken 1998; Smith 1995; McCann 2000). Moreover, 
Hammett used to write in a magazine called Black Mask, which is accepted as the workshop of 
the hard-boiled stories and represents the background of this newborn genre (McCracken, 
1998; Delameter and Prigozy, 1997). The novel was (and is) quite popular and sold over 
100,000 copies (Gelder 58). It was also adapted into a film in 1941.  Sam Spade, the 
protagonist, and detective of the novel, was portrayed by Humphrey Bogart. The novel includes 
some autobiographical traces since Hammett used to have a job in a detective agency in 1915 
(Kelleghan 302). 
In this paper, I present the novel The Maltese Falcon by American author Dashiell 
Hammett in light of popular and detective fiction criticisms. The new subjects, concepts, 
characters, and social analysis which the novel starts in detective fiction are my subject matter. 
Firstly, I argue that The Maltese Falcon fits into most of the formulaic concepts of popular 
fiction and detective fiction, except that it carries the features of a new genre called the 
 
12 Assistan Professor, Karabuk University, Faculty of Letters, Department of Western Languages and 
Literatures, Karabuk / Turkey 
 
 79
 
American hard-boiled detective story. I apply the parameters of critics like McCracken and 
Smith on popular and hard-boiled fiction to The Maltese Falcon. I analyze the story’s themes, 
the protagonist, and the detective’s features and see if these parallel the formulaic nature of the 
popular detective genre. Secondly, I list the inventions and discoveries of Hammett and 
Chandler in the popular detective fiction genre. Thirdly, I try to determine the differences and 
similarities between the novel from the Golden Age popular detective fiction in the UK, 
represented by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie. I compare the formulaic structures 
of their novels and the features of detective, sidekick, victim, murderer, and violence treatment 
and detection process. In conclusion, I sum up the result that The Maltese Falcon pioneered a 
new genre called hard-boiled with its new subject matter, setting, detective, and detection 
process in the modern world of the 1930s US. 
 
Hard-boiled and the detective genre 
 
The Maltese Falcon includes the themes of the world of gangsters in the city, the greed 
of humankind, moral corruption, and a sense of duty. McCann states that Dashiell Hammett 
changed ‘far away mysterious setting in crime fiction with intimate cosmopolitanism.’ After 
that, hard-boiled fiction remained faithful to these urban settings (68). The novel’s setting is 
San Francisco. The city is apparent in the novel with its underworld, crime, trouble, and intrigue 
in social life. The Maltese Falcon provides a world of gangsters where murder for self-interest 
is common. Irwin states that the novels by Hammett, Chandler, Cain, Burnett, and Woolrich 
are linked thematically: ‘Each evokes the struggle of the twentieth century working American 
to become or stay his boss, a struggle that plays out as a conflict between the professional and 
personal lives of these novels’ protagonists’ (Unless xi). Gutman, Wilmer, Brigid, Thursby, 
Cairo, and even Spade are members of this gang world in pursuit of money. Judith Smith puts 
forward that “detective fiction lent itself to an oppositional sensibility, exposing social and 
sexual hypocrisy while revealing the underside of political and economic authority, especially 
in the hands of radical writers such as Dashiell Hammett and Vera Caspary” (Visions, 148). The 
moral corruption they present become visible with the mysteries and action presented in the 
novel13. That the protagonist Sam Spade is trying to agree with criminals at the expense of his 
partner, Archer presents us with the newborn hard-boiled detective. The characters in the story 
are marked by their greed for money and self-interest. Especially, Gutman is obsessed with the 
‘legendary’ falcon and its possession. The story represents the city's failure for a cosmopolitan14 
entrepreneur and modern American pursuits. Spade loses Archer, Brigid and gives her to the 
police. Brigid loses Spade, Thursby, and the falcon and ends up in jail. Wilmer kills Gutman 
because he betrayed him. Cairo has nothing at his hand. His patron disillusions Wilmer and 
kills him. This is what city life offers to the readers. 
 
  The Maltese Falcon is an excellent example of popular detective fiction. It includes the 
formula of the genre, which functions well in the novel with some differences from its 
predecessors. McCracken states that popular fiction is an insight into a reader’s sense of self in 
the modern new world which pressures and disorients the reader as a member of the modern 
 
13 George Thompson’s book Hammett’s Moral Vision (1972, 2007) studies The Maltese Falcon in depth in terms 
of the ethical problems (or choices) of Hammett in the novel. Who is Spade? What does he judge by? Why did he 
give up Brigid? All the questions are answered in detail with numbered reasons. 
14 The characters in The Maltese Falcon are members of a cosmopolitan world. The criminals of the novel include 
a Jew (Gutman), a Levantine (Cairo) and a New Yorker (Wilmer). Brigid O’Shaughnessy is a white woman 
implying ethno-centralism (Gumshoe America, 68-70). Morover, the book Immigration and American Popular 
Culture by Rubin and Melnick provides an insight into 30’s America and foreigners and immigrants and their 
involvement in crime. 
 80
 
world (220). The reader of The Maltese Falcon may find that the setting of the novel, the 
cynical detective Spade, and the greedy gangsters (Gutman, Wilmer, and Cairo) carry the social 
dilemmas, corruptions, and recent issues of the American 1920s and 30s (Kelleghan 301-7). 
Spade’s involvement in the plot for obtaining the falcon, his relationship with his colleague and 
Archer’s wife, his secretary, the police forces, and Brigid are all subject matters of the 
contemporary US which is just out of WWI and in the process of heavy urbanization and 
industrialization. Sam Spade is a figure outrun by the modern world's pressures and 
disorienting forces. He pursues his self-interest like other characters that represent the 
underworld of contemporary US, involved in the underworld of the city, disillusioned and 
pressurized by his complex relationship with his colleague’s wife and Brigid, and by the 
contradictions of his sense of duty, law and order and personal wishes. In light of these 
arguments of the story, McCracken’s analysis of popular fiction fits into these realities of the 
novel. McCracken points out the triangle of the world, the reader, and the text in popular fiction 
(1-3). In parallel, the world in popular fiction is the modern world. Its social merits change, 
which brings about contradictions, which are the subjects of popular fiction. Moreover, popular 
fiction mainly sets its characters in the middle of the ‘modern systems of international finance, 
and technological and political networks, which are part of the organizational power of 
modernity’ (McCracken 4). The reader of The Maltese Falcon in the urban cities of 1930’s US 
may find the exotic and fantasy of the city life s/he lives in. In contrast, the reader of the novel 
today may find clues into the urban life and its inhabitant’s wishes and horrors in the period. 
In terms of the text, the slang and the language that characters use represent the society they 
live in, and the simple grammar structure and direct nature of the speeches are all coherent and 
parallel with the conventions of the popular fiction genre. 
 
 The popular fiction, McCracken claims, presents that a better, more fulfilled life is 
possible (14). The characters in The Maltese Falcon are all after this better and more fulfilled 
life; however, the novel does not provide this possibility. Spade is after the falcon, murderers, 
and Brigid, respectively, for money, career success, and a lover. Gutman and Cairo are not only 
after money but the exotic fantasy of chasing an oriental and unique (and legendary, maybe) 
item. Brigid and Thursby are also after money and love. 
 
 The Maltese Falcon has the formulaic nature and the general outlines of a detective 
story (with some exceptions, which I will discuss later in the paper, where I compare The 
Maltese Falcon with the Golden Age detective story). In his book Detective Fiction, James 
Smith states that the characters in detective fiction are always static, and some detective stories 
are dominated by the setting (4). Thinking about Spade, Brigid, Gutman, Cairo, and Wilmer, it 
is possible to tell that they do not change at all and are static. In the case of The Maltese Falcon, 
the city and its cosmopolitan structure: the hotels, harbor, apartments, streets, and cars have a 
considerable place in the plot and the flow of the story. The characters are a member of this 
urban setting, the urban wishes shape their lives, and the action takes place in city settings at 
all times. The formulaic concept of detective fiction is outlined by James in his book (12-15) 
as such: Near the beginning, the detective is introduced, and facts about a crime are presented. 
In the story, Sam Spade is introduced right in the beginning. His physical appearance is given. 
Regarding the crime presented, there are several crimes and mysteries for the detective and the 
reader in The Maltese Falcon. The biggest mysteries in the novel are what the falcon is, who 
shot Archer and Thursby. Spade is after solving these two knots, which are functional in a 
detective story for the suspense. The crime must appear insoluble, says James, which is the 
case in the novel. Archer is shot, and the explanations and clues give us something but are 
complicated. Later in the story, we read that Thursby is dead, there is a man named Gutman, 
and Jacobi also comes into Spade’s office and dies. These are the mysteries the novel provides 
 81
 
us. Secondly, the investigation process is the central element of the detective formula. 
Similarly, the bulk of the plot of The Maltese Falcon is reserved for Spade’s investigation of 
the gangsters. James states that a solution is more important than catching and punishing the 
criminal; however, in the novel, the emotional peak of Hammett in which Spade gives Brigid 
to the police seems one of the essential elements in the plot. (That would be considered 
contradictory to what Poirot did at the end of the story of The Murder on the Orient Express). 
Thirdly, the standard characters are other necessary elements in the formula of detective stories. 
According to the formula, one of these characters, the victim, should be essential. The first 
victim, Archer, is emotionally vital to Spade as his colleague. Thursby turns out to be Brigid’s 
lover, and the falcon is presented as a unique ornamented item for the reader. The formula 
suggests that the criminal should be the least likely suspect. The reader may not trust Brigid 
from the middle of the story to the end, but she is indeed the least likely suspect. Fourthly, the 
formula asserts that the detective should be intelligent and an aristocrat whose intellect solves 
the crime. Another invention of the hard-boiled genre is that Spade is a fellow citizen of the 
US. Other than that, he is, though, intelligent. It is his intellect that analyses the relationships 
and connections and solves the mysteries of the novel. Spade finds out about La Paloma in a 
newspaper called The Call. He manages to evade the police in the room where Brigid and Cairo 
fight. When called for a statement by the justice, he knew that they had nothing to arrest him. 
Moreover, Spade detects Wilmer when he shadows him15. The detective’s partner is an essential 
element of the formula, though Spade’s partner is shot in the story. Their relationship is not 
developed; therefore, Spade is alone, and it is impossible to compare Archer with Dr. Watson 
or any other sidekicks of the detective genre. Fifthly, the formula includes some stock 
characters. These are Archer’s wife, who is in a platonic, romantic relationship with the 
protagonist detective; Effie serves as a confidant to Spade after Archer to a lesser extent; the 
inept policemen16 Tom Polhaus and Dundy, who are cynical towards both Spade and every 
other character in the story. Sixth, the formula includes that crime should happen in an isolated 
setting, but there should be hope for a solution. Archer is shot at night in the street, and there 
are no witnesses to the murder of Archer, Thursby, and Captain Jacobi. However, their 
connections with other characters are the readers’ and detectives’ hope for the solutions to the 
mysteries 
. 
Moreover, McCracken says that a detective story has the detective, the helper, the 
victim, the witness, and the criminal. There is a process of collecting pieces of evidence and 
solution (59). In The Maltese Falcon, the helper is murdered initially (Archer). There is no 
helper to Sam Spade at all. Only Effie provides some accommodation to Brigid. Moreover, we 
are curious about what would have happened if the falcon was genuine and Spade collected the 
money from Gutman. Would he turn Brigid and others into the police? Would he punish the 
murderers of Thursby and Archer? Would that be a detective story because Spade would turn 
into a criminal? If he had not given Brigid to the police, he would become one, thus 
deconstructing the idea of a standard detective type. In addition, McCracken’s idea that the 
detective is a philosopher of modernity is a perfect application to the case of Sam Spade though 
not explicitly and intentionally outspoken in the text. His pursuit of love, money, and integrity, 
as his manners against the police, the gangsters, and especially Brigid, unleashes his critical 
and complex nature, which in total portrays a philosopher detective: one who finds it ethical to 
accept a bribe for the antique item, to have a relationship with his co-worker’s wife and 
 
15 See Gumshoe p. 89 for more of Spade’s intelligence and bright attributes. 
16 The police forces in The Maltese Falcon are inadequate and clumsy like Dupin’s Paris Prefecture and Sherlock 
Holmes’s Scotland Yard. Dr Watson’s thick-headedness and weakness for feminine beauty is observable in Archer 
with the exception of his death (Gumshoe America, 88-9). 
 82
 
customer, have the motivation to produce a fall guy to the police although ‘honorable’ enough 
to take his sidekick’s revenge. 
 
 As an example of the hard-boiled type, The Maltese Falcon shows differences from its 
archetypes of the classical age of detective fiction. Moreover, it carries some new subject 
matters and characterizations in the genre. The classical detective fiction of the Golden Age 
emphasizes the plot. It asserts that the story is not real but just a story, unmarked by violence 
and brutality, there is a conservative outlook for order in society, and it provides security and 
protection for the readers (James 25). Whereas the hard-boiled stories are cynical, appeal to the 
danger and violent urges of the readers, and provide fast-paced action, danger, and violence, a 
distinctive dialogue is apparent with slang, earthy language, especially by the detective, and 
corruption of the city is presented with gangsters, police force and politicians (James 28-30). 
It is previously mentioned in the paper that Hammett replaced the setting of detective fiction 
with cities (McCann 68). In addition, Hammett coined a cynical protagonist who is suspicious 
of anything and thought. Spade’s relationship with Brigid and Archer’s wife, his involvement 
with gangsters such as Gutman, Wilmer, and Cairo, his interrogation by the police, and all his 
adventures provide an appealing function for the violence and dangerous urges of the readers. 
Will he be shot? How dangerous is it to pursue gangsters alone? Will he let Brigid go? Will 
Brigid kill him? These awoke the readers’ excitement and curiosity. Moreover, Spade is 
involved in fast-paced action while he seeks to deal with the gangsters. His speeches to the 
police, the gangsters, and Effie are distinctive with directness and earthiness. He is in a corrupt 
city where people seek wealth and can do anything. A considerable difference in Spade is that 
he is at the mercy of the police and judiciary system, unlike the traditional detective-genius, 
whose freedom results from his ability (McCann 90). 
 
 Conclusion  
In conclusion, The Maltese Falcon is a positively criticized popular detective fiction 
that represents a break from the traditional classical detective stories from the UK and the USA 
and is one of the significant examples of hard-boiled American detective stories (Irwin 2). The 
themes and motifs of the novel represent the contemporary social life in the urban cities of the 
US in the process of heavy urbanization and industrialization. Sam Spade, the protagonist and 
the detective of the story, is portrayed as having slack ethics, harsh and cynical, which is a new 
type of detective in the genre considering Holmes, Poirot, Miss Marple, and Dupin, the 
detectives of the masterpieces of Christie, Doyle, and Poe. Unlike these types, Spade is an 
active member of his society with his involvement in corruption, crime, and pursuit of wealth. 
Spade is the new type of detective in the modern city. The Maltese Falcon fits into the formula 
of the detective genre with some inventions which brought about the new subgenre, the hard-
boiled.  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 83
 
Works Cited 
Delameter, Jerome, and Prigozy, Ruth. Theory and Practice of Classic Detective Fiction. 
Greenwood Press: London. 1997. 
Gelder, Ken. Popular Fiction: The logics and practices of a literary field. Routledge: London 
and New York. 2004. 
Hammett, Dashiell. The Maltese Falcon, Vintage. 1989. 
Irwin, John T. Unless the Threat of Death Is Behind Them: Hard-boiled Fiction and Film Noir. 
The Johns Hopkins University Press: Baltimore. 2006. 
Kelleghan, Fiona. 100 Masters of Mystery and Detective Fiction Volume 1, Salem Press Inc.: 
Pasadena. 2001. 
McCann, Sean. Gumshoe America: Hard-Boiled Crime Fiction and the Rise and Fall of New 
Deal Liberalism, Duke University Press: Durham & London. 2000.  
McCracken, Scott. PULP: Reading Popular Fiction. Manchester University Press. 1998. 
Smith, James. Detective Fiction, Kendall/Hunt Publishing Company. 1995. 
Smith, Judith E. VISIONS OF BELONGING: Family Stories, Popular Culture, and Postwar 
Democracy, 1940 –1960. Columbia University Press: New York. 2004. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 84
 
THE MEMOIRS OF A SURVIVOR: AMBIGUOUS AUTOBIOGRAHY 
Sarah Alaa Abdelrahman AFIFI17 
 
ABSTRACT 
The paper analyzes the unknown narrator in the novel, The Memoirs of a Survivor, and 
the relationship between her and the writer. The unknown narrator is the alter ego of Doris 
Lessing, and the whole novel is an ambiguous autobiography of the writer herself. There is a 
lot of evidence mentioned to prove that claim: Doris suffered in her childhood from various 
traumas regarding her mother who favored her brother instead. Likewise, the unknown narrator 
suffered from the mother-daughter relationship throughout her life. Lessing was fond of Sufism 
which is clearly reflected in the transcendence of the narrator’s psyche that takes place through 
the walls. The usage of the same name of Lessing’s mother for the protagonist is not a 
coincidence. Last, but not least, Lessing is well-known for her passion for writing 
autobiographies which strongly supports the claim that the narrator of the novel is the writer’s 
alter ego. Unity and transcendence are attained in Lessing's novel through her shift from a 
realistic to a spiritualist story. The unknown narrator achieves unification and transcendence 
for her soul, and Lessing achieves her dream of being a remarkable writer. And finally, both of 
them overcome the chaos in their lives. 
Keywords: sufism, transcendence, unknown narrator, alter ego, traumas, mother-
daughter relationship, spiritual journey, allegory  
Introduction 
The Memoirs of a Survivor is a biographical novel that perplexed many critics when it 
was published in 1974. It has been interpreted as science fiction, feminist fiction, and 
autobiography in various contexts. Other critics believe the novel represents Lessing's 
transition from a realistic to a mystic narrative. The novel has depth in meaning and allegory. 
Almost all critics focused on the claim that the unknown narrator sees her past in her alter ego, 
Emily, but the truth is that Lessing is the one who sees her past in her alter ego, the unknown 
narrator, through Emily. Doris goes on a spiritual journey in the novel to break the bondage of 
that existential situation of her past and painful memories. Doris gains salvation when the 
traumas of the characters' anguish are healed, which are basically hers. As a result, Lessing's 
need for salvation in her novels in general and in The Memoirs of a Survivor, in particular, was 
a result of her upbringing, education, and social environment. Therefore, I claim that The 
Memoirs of a Survivor is an ambiguous biography of Doris Lessing and that the unknown 
narrator in the novel is her alter ego. 
Similarities in Childhood Struggles 
The unknown narrator in the novel suffers from her past and painful memories. She 
sees herself in her alter ego, Emily. She recalls some hurtful incidents behind the wall. She 
must experience these personal scenes to achieve unification. “Now I must return to the 
«personal» and it is with dismay, a not-wanting” (Lessing, Memoirs, 1974: 66). She remembers 
when she was a child, an unwanted child with a tired, frustrated, indifferent mother. She was 
craving her mother’s love and attention but heard nothing but her mother’s complaints about 
 
17 İstanbul Beykent University, English Language and Literature Master Program, İstanbul/ Türkiye, 
sarahalaa87@gmail.com 
 85
 
her: “You’re a naughty girl, Emily, naughty, naughty, naughty, disgusting, filthy, dirty, dirty, 
dirty” (Lessing, Memoirs, 1974: 144). According to the unknown narrator, she suffers not only 
from her mother but also from her father, who lacks sexual activity with his wife and seeks it 
from his young daughter while pretending to play and have fun, where “she shrieked: «No, no, 
no, no»… helpless, being explored and laid bare by this man.” (Lessing, Memoirs, 1974: 87). 
The narrator is traumatized by such experiences. She escapes behind the wall into her 
impersonal scenes where she cleans, paints, and purifies empty rooms which are exhausting 
but joyful and hopeful at the same time. In order to heal and unite her soul, she must confront 
the inescapable personal scenes. Shifting between the personal and the impersonal scenes, the 
unknown narrator suffers, confronts her past, and heals her psyche. The unknown narrator and 
Emily are mirror images of one another because they both grew up experiencing emotional 
sterility and lack of self-worth. So, in one of her scenes, the unnamed narrator notices a white 
egg behind the wall. Despite being white, the egg stands for sterility and coldness. It also 
predicts the dark egg that appears at the end of the book. She finally sees the polished, glossy 
black egg as a reward for her perseverance and labor. Despite being black, the egg stands in 
for the narrator's psychological nourishment. This egg is abundant, powerful, and fruitful—not 
like the sterile white one. Its liveliness and sound life-giving quality show a lasting wholeness. 
Likewise, Doris Lessing depicted her childhood as an uneven blend of a few delights 
and much torment. Her mother, who was “obsessed” with raising a proper girl, imposed a firm 
system at home, where she was technically favoring her son, Henry. She enrolled her daughter 
in a boarding school where nuns frightened the children with stories of hell and condemnation.  
Lessing educated herself and became a self-educated intellectual. She believed that unhappy 
childhoods tend to produce novelists. She was inspired by Dickens, Scott, Stevenson, Kipling, 
D.H. Lawrence, Stendhal, Tolstoy, and Dostoevsky. Lessing had to handle her father’s bad 
temper and manage his painful memories of World War I. With such parents, Lessing left home 
in a fight with them when she was fifteen years old. 
After she moved out of her home, she tried to start a new life; she worked as a nurse, a 
telephone operator, and a clerk. She was interested in reading and writing until she wrote her 
first novel at the age of seventeen. She got married and had two children when she was 
nineteen. She left her family and remained in Salisbury a few years later, feeling caught in a 
persona she dreaded would annihilate her. 
Lessing has written over thirty books, the most recent of which was Alfred & Emily in 2008, a 
retelling of her parents' story, as well as collections of short stories and poems. 
Doris Lessing’s Interest in Writing Autobiographies 
Lessing has always had a passion for writing, especially autobiographies and memoirs. 
“Lessing has published two volumes of her autobiography, Under My Skin (1994) and Walking 
in the Shade (1997)” (Linfield and Lessing, 2001: 61), where she describes her upbringing, 
divorces, love affairs, and her involvement with the Rhodesian Communist Party. When Doris 
Lessing first published The Memoirs of a Survivor, she titled it "An Attempt at an 
Autobiography," and it is well known that “autobiography is by definition (aut-) the story of 
the writing self” (Rosenfeld, 2005: 46). However, this subtitle was later removed by the 
publishers, with no clarification. Many of her works are considered autobiographical; Going 
Home, African Laughter, and Children of Violence are some of these works. 
 
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Doris Lessing’s Embrace of Sufism 
After finishing The Golden Notebook and enrolling as a student of Sufi master Idries 
Shah, Lessing became familiar with Sufism. Lessing was dissatisfied with her prior 
involvement in communism and other Western ideologies like materialism during this crucial 
time in her life. “Lessing then set out to look for a new path to salvation” (Lin, 2019: 252). She 
began reading books about Eastern religions and Christian mysticism that she had borrowed 
from the library. Lessing found her guide in the Sufi master Idries Shah, “whom she sought out 
several times before Shah agreed to be her mentor” (Lin, 2019: 253). At that time, Shah was 
working on a book called The Sufis, which is now considered one of the influential works on 
Sufism. Lessing learned a lot about Sufism from Shah's book and her correlation with Shah. In 
this book, Shah presents the teachings of Sufism in an accessible manner, clarifying different 
features of Sufism. Shah mentions an example that his Sufi teacher Rumi mentioned about a 
man who has never seen water is thrown “blindfolded into it, and feels it. When the bondage 
is removed, he knows what it is. Until then he only knew it by its effect” (Lin, 2019: 253). The 
Sufis view this bondage as one of the biggest obstacles to achieving the Sufi objective of 
transcendence and fulfillment. In order to break that bondage, Shah says one needs a new 
perspective to subdue the materialistic domain. This new perspective will help free the mind 
from the bonds of stiff thinking. These are the beliefs that flooded Lessing’s heart and were 
reflected in her works at the same time. 
Reflection of Sufism in the Novel 
The reflection of Sufi beliefs was depicted in the lives of both Lessing and the unknown 
narrator. Lessing has looked into her Sufi beliefs, a spiritual movement she has adhered to since 
the 1960s. She follows a Sufi path in Memoirs, which, similar to what some critics have said, 
takes place both in the "real" world and behind the wall. This bond is depicted by Lessing using 
a variety of symbols throughout the book, and it is finally severed when the traumas of the 
suffering characters are treated and a new era of civilization starts. As the narrator is physically 
separated from her two neighbors by walls, walls are one of the symbols used by Lessing to 
define spatial boundaries. The narrator has strong feelings for walls and is generally aware of 
their symbolic meaning, in contrast to ordinary people who might view them as unimportant. 
The narrator compares her emotions to the wall even before she mystically passes through it in 
her apartment. The personal scenes, she experiences behind these walls in the novel, were so 
suffocating and oppressive but healing at the same time. 
Similarities in the Mother-Daughter Relationship 
         The traumas that both Lessing and the unknown narrator experience from their mothers 
are another similarity. “What I remember is hard bundling hands, impatient arms and her voice 
telling me over and over again that she had not wanted a girl, she wanted a boy. I knew from 
the beginning she loved my little brother unconditionally, and she did not love me” (Lessing, 
Under My Skin, 1995: 25). Lessing's mental injuries from her parents and her early departure 
from her home influenced and shaped her writing taste. The same concept was clearly reflected 
in the novel when the little girl, Emily, in one of the personal scenes, listened to her mother 
criticizing her. Lessing describes the girl’s feelings at this moment; she says that “her face was 
shadowed and black because of the pressure of criticism on her, her existence. She was a dark-
haired child, with dark eyes like her father’s, full of pain – guilt” (Lessing, Memoirs, 1974: 
68). The word “her existence” is the key word here. The feeling of pain and frustration that can 
cause someone to question their own existence. In both versions, the real life of Lessing and 
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the life of the narrator in the novel, the same pain, agony, struggle, and discomfort are depicted. 
Unusually, the mother is the source of all these negative emotions in both versions. 
I see the mother-daughter relationship as the dark continent of dark continents. 
The darkest point of our social order. I don’t know one woman who isn’t 
suffering in her relationship with her mother. And, most often, this suffering is 
expressed through tears and screams. It translates into a silence between mother 
and daughter, as well as an inability to identify with each other (Irigaray, 2007: 
18).  
 Irigaray in the quote typically describes the relationship between Lessing and her mother as 
"cold," which can be considered a weapon with two edges. It is a curse for Lessing to suffer 
from a relationship that should have been the closest in her life, and it is a blessing at the same 
time because these circumstances inspired her in one way or another to be a significant and 
notable writer. 
         “Almost all evidence about how childhood experiences affect later mental health stems 
from the responses of adults to questions about their experiences of abusive events as children” 
(Horwitz, 2001: 185). If the psyche of Lessing is to be analyzed, more similarities are to be 
found between her and the unknown narrator in The Memoirs of a Survivor, which supports the 
point that the unknown narrator is the alter ego of Doris Lessing herself. Lessing's life was 
guided by her controlling mother, who denied her the opportunity to exercise any free will. The 
unknown narrator seeks salvation by observing her alter ego, Emily, and experiencing personal 
scenes behind the wall, where she sees Emily, who is technically the narrator and is ironically 
Lessing herself, suffering and being abused by her own parents. Therefore, it is clearly 
noticeable that while the unknown narrator is seeking salvation through her alter ego, Emily, 
Lessing is seeking salvation through her alter ego, the unknown narrator. 
Similar Use of Names 
         Indeed, it is not a coincidence that the protagonist in the Memoirs of a Survivor has the 
same name of Doris Lessing’s mother, Emily. But the irony is that Emily in the novel is a 
victim, but in reality, she is the oppressor. Emily, in the novel, is a teenager, who was left by 
her father in a middle-aged stranger’s house to take care of her. “She was watching me, 
carefully, closely: the thought came into my mind that this was the expert assessment of 
possibilities by a prisoner observing a new jailer.” (Lessing, Memoirs, 1974: 15) The girl joins 
a gang, falls in love, and is torn between her desire to depart with her lover and staying with 
her dog, which she cannot easily sacrifice. She suffers from mental and emotional swings, yet 
has to make decisions and take care of herself despite her young age. In reality, Emily is 
Lessing’s mother, who is the main cause of her childhood trauma. Surprisingly, when Lessing 
became a mother, she could not give her children the care she lacked from her mother, 
abandoning two of them to their father to commit herself more fully to her writing and work. 
Conclusion: 
         The Memoirs of a Survivor is a personal fiction that occupied numerous scholars’ minds 
when it was first distributed and is still puzzling all the critics who come across it. Unity and 
transcendence are attained in Lessing's novel through her shift from a realistic to a spiritualist 
story. The novel includes a profound anecdote with a clear purpose. It is more logical to assert 
that Lessing is the one who sees her past in her changed inner self, the unknown narrator, in 
addition to the established claim that the obscure narrator sees her past in her modify sense of 
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self, Emily. The unknown narrator achieves unification and transcendence for her soul, and 
Lessing achieves her dream of being a remarkable writer. And finally, both of them overcome 
the chaos in their lives. With the high resemblance between Lessing and the narrator, The 
Memoirs of a Survivor is therefore an ambiguous autobiography by its illustrious author, Doris 
Lessing. 
 
Works Cited 
Horwitz, Allan V., et al., (2001). The Impact of Childhood Abuse and Neglect on Adult 
Mental  Health:  A Prospective Study. Journal of Health and Social Behavior, 42 (2):  
184–201.  
Irigaray, Luce, (2007). Je, Tu, Nous. Routledge Classics. 
Lessing, Doris, (1974). The Memoirs of a Survivor. Octagon Press. 
Lessing, Doris, (1995). Under My Skin – Volume One of My Autobiography, to 1949. 
Flamingo. 
Linfield, Susie, and Doris Lessing, (2001). Against Utopia: An Interview with Doris Lessing.   
Salmagundi, 130/131: 59–74.  
Lin, Lidan, (2019). The Dissolution of Walls: Trauma, Healing, and the Sufi Way in Lessing’s 
 The Memoirs of a Survivor. The Comparatist, 43: 252–60.  
Rosenfeld, Aaron S., (2005). Re-Membering the Future: Doris Lessing’s Experiment in  
Autobiography. Critical Survey, 17 (1): 40–55.